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The escape of Captain Graham.— See page 114. 








SHENANDOAH 


A STORY OF SHERIDAN’S GREAT RIDE. 

A NOVEL. 


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By J. P. TRACY. 

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NEW YORK: 

NOVELIST PUBLISHING CO., 
61 Beekman Street. 


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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894, by the 
NOVELIST PUBLISHING CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian at Washington, D. C. 


TO THE 


BOYS IN BLUE, 

WHO BY THEIR 

PATRIOTISM AND BRAVERY 

TURNED THE TIDE OF BATTLE, 

THIS BOOK IS 

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

BY THE 


AUTHOR 


































































































































































































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PREFACE 


The author acknowledges his indebtedness to Watts 
Phillips, Esq., for many salient features used in these 
pages ; also to George E. Pond, formerly associate editor of 
the Army and Navy Journal for military information de- 
rived from his excellent work “The Shenandoah Valley in 
1864. ** The brief descriptions of the battles of Winchester 
and Cedar Creek were largely made up from the published 
narratives of eyewitnesses, and their accuracy will readily 
be conceded by surviving veterans who were present on 
those memorable occasions, where victory was achieved only 
through baptism by blood and the heroic energy and 
military skill of General Philip Sheridan. 































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CONTENTS. 


V 


CHAPTER XXII. 

PAGE. 

In which the Curtain Falls on Little Jimmy 159 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

In which it is Demonstrated that a Knave may be a Fool as 
well. . ; 163 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

In which Captain Graham Rejoins the Army at Last, and Some 
Particulars are Given of the Battle of Winchester 167 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Larger Part of which has been Appropriated from 
American History 173 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Sheridan’s Ride 178 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

“The Knife ! The Knife ! I’ve Dropped the Knife 1” 186 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Conclusion , . , 191 




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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE. 

Shows a Glimpse of the Past, and Introduces upon the Scene 
an Unexpected Visitor 7 

CHAPTER II. 

Husband and Wife 16 

CHAPTER III. 

“You Have Broken My Heart.” 22 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Withered Forget-me-nots 28 

CHAPTER V. 

“I Wish, oh God, that I were Dead.” 36 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Madness of Love 44 

CHAPTER VII. 

Who Holds the Ace ? 52 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Relates to the Mysterious Disappearance of Captain Graham . 56 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Short Chapter Chiefly Treating of Events that Led to the 
Shenandoah Valley Becoming the Theater of a Lurid 
Drama 63 


iv 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 

PAGE. 

Sliows that when a Man is Resolved upon an Unhallowed 

Project the Devil is ever Ready to Assist him 67 

CHAPTER XI. 

In which Mr. Sikes Proves he is a Worthy Pupil of a very 

Bad Master 75 

CHAPTER XII. 

Going Backward 85 

CHAPTER XIII. 

In which the Captain’s Protege Bobs up Serenely 95 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Records an Interview between Jimmy and the Colonel’s Lady 102 
CHAPTER XV. 

The Escape of Captain Graham 107 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire 116 

CHAPTER XVII. 

In which the Enemy is Outwitted 124 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Under a Friendly Roof 130 

CHAPTER XIX. 

In which is Played the Game of Hide and Seek 137 

CHAPTER XX. 

In which a Southern Matron Renders Great Assistance to the 
Enemy 144 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Through the Wilds of the Blue Ridge 153 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER I. 

SHOWS A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST, AND INTRODUCES UPON THE 
SCENE AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 

It was the night of the 12th of July, 1864. A violent 
thunderstorm was sweeping up the Valley of the Shenan- 
doah. The dusty turnpike leading into the town of 
Strasburg was soon transformed into a tract of slush and 
waterpools. The dripping trees, that bordered the road at 
intervals, tossed their rustling limbs in wild and helpless 
confusion under the pelting blasts that tore their way 
through the blackness of the night. 

On the outskirts of the town, the lights of which could be 
seen winking mistily in the distance, stood a quaint, old- 
fashioned building that marked an era beyond the recollec- 
tion of the oldest inhabitant. This ancient edifice squatted 
in gloomy solitude upon the edge of the highway not far 
from the railroad crossing. It offered an unresisting mark 
to the full p’ay of the wind. The driving gusts smote 
the building fronc and rear with a savage glee that knew 
no restraint. They played at hide-and-seek around the 
corners and under the eaves, and thundered at the barred 
windows, and upon the great sunken doorway for admission. 
Two large bulging windows flanked the entrance. The 
glass panes were small and badly cracked with age and 
adverse acquaintanceship with the elements. The rain cut 
furrows athwart the dust and grime of years, through 


8 


SHENANDOAH. 


which gleams of light squinted rather than flashed upon 
the water-soaked roadw T ay. An obscure sign above the 
entrance conveyed the doubtful information that “gro- 
ceries” were to be had within. 

On the present occasion the old building housed a small 
but curiously assorted group of visitors. The larger part 
were regular customers who dropped in nightly to sample 
the stock of “wet groceries” partitioned off at the rear 
end of the store. 

The most important person present was Job Hendricks, 
overseer of the Anderson homestead near by — a hard-fea- 
tured man of forty, whose distinguishing trait was a 
stubborn hatred for everything that savored of Yankeeism. 
He was discussing the latest war news with the last 
arrival — an ill-conditioned fellow in rebel gray, whose 
faded uniform showed him to be a non-commissioned 
officer. 

Perhaps a dozen others, chiefly small farmers and their 
white help, were perched about on barrels and boxes, fairly 
wedged into the smallest possible space, not unlike packed 
sardines ; while three or four tattered and dirty-looking 
army stragglers hung over the limited counter that served 
for the bar, in attitudes suggestive of the need of material 
support for their embarrassed extremities. 

The prevailing stimulant dispensed by a shock-headed 
youth was whisky, generally raw, a three-finger measure to 
the dose. As the symposium grew apace this corner of the 
store became hazy with the smoke of bad cigars and still 
viler pipes, till the low ceiling grew to resemble an inverted 
plain obscured by a lead -colored fog. 

“Early should be before Washington by this time — the 
defeat of Wallace’s forces at Monocacy on Saturday cleared 
away the last obstacle, ’ ’ said Job Hendricks, knocking the 
ashes from his cigar. 

“Wal!” said the Confederate officer, “I reckon that’s 
about ther size of it. ’ ’ 


SHENANDOAH. 


9 


“Then,” said the overseer grimly, “he’s in position to 
strike a blow that’ll shake Yankeedom to the core.” 

“I calculate Early’s ther man for ther job. ,r 

“No fear of that, my friend,” said Hendricks, “but you 
must bear in mind that Grant has probably by this time 
thrown troops into the city to strengthen the defenses. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That would weaken his army before Richmond, ’ ’ said 
the officer. 

“Very true,” continued the overseer; “that’s precisely 
the object aimed at by Lee when he planned this Maryland 
invasion. Early’s campaign through the Valley, assisted 
by Ewell’s operations in Pennsylvania and Maryland, is 
merely a ruse, in my opinion, to frighten and weaken 
Grant. ’ ’ 

“Wal, now you put it that way, I kinder guess you’re 
more’n half right. ” 

“Lee was obliged to make a diversion of some kind, be- 
cause of the strategic operations of the army of the Poto- 
mac, which are gradually hemming him in round our 
capital. When Grant left his position on the Cliicka- 
hominy, ten miles from Richmond, and pushed across the 
country to the James River, it became possible for him to 
besiege the city, or to force its evacuation, or for Lee to attack 
him. The movement nearly cost us the great stronghold 
lying between Grant’s new base and Richmond. The 
timely arrival of reinforcements alone saved Lee, but left 
him still the choice of two evils. If he kept ahead of the 
Yankee army, holding the Petersburg line secure, Grant 
was sure to walk in between him and Richmond, with the 
city at his mercy. If Lee kept between Grant and Rich- 
mond, the Yankee general had it in his power to cut off 
the Southern States’ communication, the only source , of 
supplies now left, as the Valley of Virginia is in the hands 
of the enemy. To save both Petersburg and Richmond, 
Lee’s only course was to attack Grant in his trenches. 
Therefore this movement into the North was laid out to per- 


10 


SHENANDOAH. 


plex the Yankee general, since even the fall of Richmond 
would scarcely compensate for the capture of Washington 
by Early. That would be a national calamity to the North, 
and I think ruin Grant’s reputation as a general. The 
question is, what move has he made in this crisis? Will it 
result in relaxing his hold on Lee and Richmond, or has 
he chanced the defense of Washington to militia and raw 
recruits?” 

A tremendous clap of thunder directly overhead caused a 
momentary cessation in the general conversation. For a 
brief interval even the wind seemed cowered into silence, 
then the rain came down in a perfect deluge. 

“A dashed unpleasant night,” said the Confederate 
officer, striking a match on a box of candles, and bringing 
the flame to the bowl of his freshly filled pipe. 

A draught of air extinguished the light. The military 
man looked around the barricade of grocery sundries into 
the store proper. A stockily built man of medium height 
was in the act of shutting the door. 

“Curse the rain!” muttered the new arrival, standing 
irresolutely near the entrance, and glancing about covertly 
from under the slouching brim of his felt hat, which fairly 
dripped with moisture. His garments, rough in texture, 
clung to his person after a sodden fashion. 

“There ain’t much change in the old rookery,” he con- 
tinued. “Looks just the same as when I stepped out three 
years ago. I’ll bet I ain’t been missed. I s’pose the old 
girl thinks I’m dead — wishes I was, no doubt. Ho, ho ! 
Sorry to undeceive her — she ain’t a bad one — but I make it 
a point always to look after number one — that’s myself. ” 

He looked positively sardonical as he slouched up to the 
counter. His face, where it showed above the short, bushy 
beard, looked lean and cadaverous. A black bit of card- 
board shaded one of his eyes, and a dirty strip of court- 
plaster extended from his chin halfway up his right 
cheek. 


SHENANDOAH. 


11 


“What do you want?” said the shock-headed boy, craning 
his neck around the partition. 

“Where’s the missus?” said the disreputable-looking 
stranger. 

“The missus !” exclaimed the youth ; “what do you want 
with her?” 

“What the devil is that your business, sonny? She is in 
the house, ain’t she?” 

“Yes,” returned the lad doggedly. 

“Well and good. I want to see her, my pippin. Not 
— here — d’ye mind. You go back and tell her an old 
friend,” the speaker grinned, “is in the store, and is com- 
ing in to see her, and I’ll follow you. What are you staring 
at, eh? I don’t look just up to the mark, do I? You 
mustn’t judge a book by the cover, sonny. The rain has 
taken all the polish off me. So run along ; you don’t know 
how glad she’ll be to see me.” 

The lad paused irresolutely. 

“You’ve got a name, hain’t you?” he blurted out. 

“Ho, ho!” exclaimed the stranger derisively, coming 
closer; “I’m sorry I didn’t bring my cardcase with me, so 
I could do the thing proper. Never you mind, sonny, just 
you do as I tell you, or — ” his manner changed to a sudden 
fierceness, “you’ll wish you had. ” 

The shock -headed youth shrunk away before the unsavory 
visitor, not a little alarmed to find him close at his heels. 
The stranger paid no attention to the group of customers 
within the back enclosure. He kept his face averted and 
quickly followed the boy through the rear door which 
opened into a short hall leading to the living rooms occu- 
pied by Mrs. Margaret Sikes. 

Mrs. Sikes was laying the table for tea in the sitting- 
room — which was the pink of neatness — off the hall. She 
was a pleasant-featured little woman of thirty, with a 
healthy glow on her cheeks, but, strangely enough, silver 
strands plainly visible in her tightly combed black hair. 


12 


SHENANDOAH. 


There was an indescribable look in her dark, beautiful 
eyes, that would set one speculating upon the peculiar- 
ity of their expression. Some people had been heard to call 
them ghostly eyes. In good truth they were not far amiss 
— an incomprehensible something haunted their liquid 
depths, like the Imp in the Bottle, and its impalpable pres- 
ence was forever looking out. 

The gossips of the neighborhood, and indeed all who were 
acquainted which Mrs. Sikes’ immediate past, settled the 
problem to their satisfaction by ascribing the good woman’s 
weird feature to the disastrous conclusion of her unfortunate 
marriage, for Gideon Sikes, her husband, after an unsatis- 
factory career in the vicinity, was finally arrested on sus- 
picion of burglarizing the Anderson homestead. At his 
trial the evidence adduced was sufficient to ensure his con- 
viction, and he was sentenced to ten years’ sequestration 
within the walls of the State penitentiary. Some six 
months afterward it was rumored that he had escaped, 
and later on a neighbor, home on furlough, asserted 
that it was believed he had gone into the army. Every- 
body argued, however, that Mrs. Sikes was well rid of him. 

There was one person, however, who found Margaret’s 
- peculiarity unfathomable. This was Stella, the beautiful and 
accomplished daughter of the late Major Ray, mistress, 
since her father’s death, and her marriage to Colonel 
Anderson about two years since, to the adjoining Ray- 
Anderson estates. 

Margaret before her ill-starred marriage had for years 
been Stella Ray’s confidential companion and maid. A 
strong bond of affection grew and cemented between the 
two women. They were almost like sisters, and only in 
public was the line drawn that distinguished the mistress 
from the social inferior. That Stella intuitively disliked 
Gideon Sikes, and opposed the marriage, was a fact ; but 
she never allowed the event to estrange herself from Mar- 
garet. She set up Sikes in the general store business in 


> 


SHENANDOAH. 13 

the old building at the corner of the Ray estate, and be- 
friended the couple in many ways, and was especially kind 
and sisterly to Margaret when her worthless husband en- 
meshed himself in the clutches of the law. 

Stella first remarked the curious change in Margaret’s 
manner, and that queer expression of the eyes, soon after 
her own marriage to Colonel Anderson — a marriage in 
which she gave her hand, but alas ! not her heart ! that was 
buried in the grave with her first and only love — Robert 
Graham. 

Her husband was the richest man in that section of the 
country, almost in the State, and his family one of the 
proudest and most aristocratic in Virginia. He had been 
attracted by her beauty and vivacity, and though old 
enough to have been her father, the connection, in a worldly 
point of view, was considered most desirable by her 
family. 

Major Ray, a veteran of the Mexican War, had once 
been a wealthy man ; but financial reverses overtook him 
late in life, until at the time of Robert Graham’s courtship 
with his daughter Stella, he had little left but the family 
estate, which adjoined the Anderson homestead, and that 
was involved to a considerable extent, Colonel Anderson 
holding a mortgage upon the property for more than half 
its value. 

With the breaking out of the Rebellion, Robert Graham, 
Stella’s accepted suitor, and Col. Ashley Anderson went to 
the front — the one as captain of a New York company, the 
other in command of a Virginia regiment. 

Singularly enough both were desperately wounded at Bull 
Run. The colonel was brought home and recovered, though 
not sufficiently to allow him to ever resume active service. 
Captain Graham was taken prisQner, sent to a Richmond 
hospital, and soon after was reported dead. 

Time passed, and the colonel, debarred from the sterner 
duties of war, and finding the field of love effectually clear 


14 


SHENANDOAH. 


of his successful rival, ventured to press his suit with the 
fair Stella. He was kindly hut quietly repulsed, but did 
not give up the hope of ultimately succeeding in winning 
his lovely neighbor. 

One year elapsed. Major Ray’s misfortunes culminated 
in a financial crisis that induced that gentleman to bring 
such pressure to bear upon his daughter’s love and paternal 
devotion, looking toward her union with Colonel Anderson, 
that the girl, feeling assured of the death of the man to 
whom she had been betrothed, at last yielded to circum- 
stances and became the colonel’s wife. But he knew that 
her hand, not her heart, passed to him with the transaction. 
Enamored as the old Confederate officer was with the lady 
of his choice, he felt content to bind the bargain, relying 
on time to smooth the way to the love he might not imme- 
diately command. So Stella became an envied bride. She 
made the colonel a good, faithful wife, in all that her heart 
could accede, and the proud husband was satisfied. 

Mrs. Sikes, having arranged the table to her satisfaction, 
stood a moment at the window. Drawing the chintz cur- 
tains she peered out upon the night. The lightning that 
momentarily cut a zigzag pathway across the inky firma- 
ment, and the sharp peals of thunder that seemed to rend 
the succeeding darkness into shreds, had no terrors for 
her. 

“ How like m J dream of last night,” she said to herself, 
“but the fac e—that face is missing. Father of Heaven, 
what does this portend ! After these years can he return ? 
If living, dare he return here f No, no, it cannot be ! This 
fancy of mine is but the visionary birth of my unquiet 
brain. Do I not suffer enough without that new presenti- 
ment of evil? Oh, Stella, Stella, if you only knew-only 
guessed how I betrayed your confidence, you would spurn 
me as a creature devoid of the faintest gratitude. Fatal 
weakness that bribed my conscience only to awaken a life- 
long remorse ! The letter is still there she mechanically 


SHENANDOAH. 


15 


pointed to a drawer in the old-fashioned mahogany dresser. 
“Why have I not destroyed it? Yet I dare not— oh, heaven, 
I dare not !’’ 

An agonized shudder passed over the woman, while she 
clung to the window like a reed swayed by the wind. In 
a moment, however, she recovered herself with a desperate 
sort of energy that showed the strength of her will-pow T er. 
Her face was calm again, and no one to look at her would 
have surmised that anything out of the ordinary had, dur- 
ing the last few moments, stirred her woman’s soul to its 
very depths. 

At this juncture the shock-headed youth made his appear- 
ance at the door. 

“What is it, Joe?” she inquired. 

“Please, mum, some one to see you,” said the youth. 

“Somebody to see me, Joe?” 

“Yes, mum.” 

“Very well,” she answered quietly. 

“Come, sonny, just you move out of the way. I’ll intro- 
duce myself, ’ ’ said a voice in the entry. 

Margaret Sikes suddenly pressed her hand to her heart. 
Her face paled to the color of marble. She stood as one 
transfixed. 

The shock-headed youth vanished, and his place was 
taken by the form of the disreputable visitor. 

“Good-evening, Mrs. Sikes. I ain’t the picture of pros- 
perity, am I,” said the man, in low, mocking tones. “But 
I hope the patted calf awaits the returned prodigal. I see 
you hain’t forgotten me.” 

“Gideon!” 


16 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER II. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

‘ ‘ Sh ) Not so loud. Some one might hear you, ’ ’ said the 
man cautiously. “It’s always well to be on the safe side,” 
and he shut the door. “It’s a weakness I have. There, 
don’t look so frightened, old girl. I ain’t going to eat you 
—though, ’ ’ and he glanced significantly at the spread table, 
“I don’t object to a mild sort of banquet, for I hain’t had 
a mouthful since daybreak. ’ ’ 

This is dreadful, ’ ’ said the woman, in a hoarse whisper. 
Of course it is, ’ ’ assented Gideon Sikes, seating him- 
self, bedraggled as he was, and removing his hat with the 
greatest nonchalance. “It’s uncommonly dreadful, as you 
say, to tramp the woods and the byways without a bite, or 
something inviting in the way of drink. ” 

“How— dare — you come back here ?” 

“Oh, come now, I like that, after all these months I’ve 
been away serving my country,” said the man, with a 
brutal grm. “What ought a good husband do when a 
hard-hearted combination of circumstances has torn him 
from the arms of his dutiful wife? Why get back to the 
family hearth at the first opportunity. Ain’t you going to 
give me a kiss, eh?” 

No!” cried the unfortunate wife, with a look of 
disgust. 

Oh, well, I ain’t particular to a shade,” said Mr. Sikes 
complacently. “You’ve got a fire in the kitchen, I guess. 

I 11 go m there and dry off. I s’pose you don’t mind get- 
ting me a glass-a stiff one, d’ye mind-of whisky from 


SHENANDOAH. 


17 


the store. My insides feel sort of gone like. Whether 
you’re glad to see me or not, I’m your husband, Mrs. Sikes, 
and don’t you overlook that fact.” 

“Yes,” said Margaret mournfully, “you are my husband. 
Would to heaven I could deny the connection ! I was mad 
when I became your wife. Some devil prompted the in- 
fatuation that ended in making me your slave. When you 
were taken from me — a convicted thief — the disgrace of it 
all bowed my head in shame ; but your absence brought 
relief to my heart, and now — an escaped felon — you have 
dared to come back, to renew a misery that time had dulled, 
yet could not wholly remove. Changed though you are, even 
to my eyes, you cannot hope to escape recognition in this 
neighborhood. Some one will raise the hue and cry. You 
will be dragged hence to endure the sentence your ingenuity 
evaded. How can you expect me to account for your 
presence in this place?” 

“How?” broke in Mr. Sikes impatiently, “why nothing 
is easier. I’m your brother, Samuel Gregson, of the Sixth 
Alabama, wounded at the battle of the Wilderness, and I’ve 
been discharged from the service. It’s quite simple.” 

“Then you mean to make me party to this criminal 
deceit?” said Margaret. 

“Why not. I’m your husband, ain’t I? Well, it’s your 
duty to stand between me and the unfortunate circumstan- 
ces over which I have no control. ” 

“Heaven help me !” she said. 

‘ ‘ Heaven helps them that help themselves, ’ ’ said Mr. 
Sikes irreverently. “So now, that the matter is settled, 
I’ll take it as a dutiful act on your part if you will just 
trot out the whisky I asked for. ’ ’ 

Margaret, who seemed quite helpless and cowed in the 
presence of her worthless husband, made a movement to 
obey. 

“You’d better bring a bottle of the stuff while you’re 
about it, ” said Mr. Sikes placidly, “I’m that chilled and 


18 


SHENANDOAH. 


tuckered out it’ll take mor’n one glass to get up a healthy 
action.” 

‘ ‘ Very well, ’ ’ she said simply. 

“And look here,” said Sikes suddenly, and almost 
fiercely, “be careful how you act, d’ye mind? If you’re 
questioned, remember it’s your brother, whom you haven’t 
seen since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. I’m 
changed enough, I feel it, to chance recognition. This 
beard is as good as a disguise. Besides, I guess more ’n half 
the folks hereabouts believe G-id Sikes dead. Oh, I’m safe 
enough, except, ’ ’ here he paused and looked meaningly at 
his wife, ‘ ‘ you took it into your head to betray me. ’ ’ 

“To betray you? I, your wife !” exclaimed Margaret, 
bursting into tears. 

“Wife!” 

Gideon Sikes seized her hand and held it up to the light. 

“Yes, here’s the marriage ring, right enough, which I 
placed on this finger four years ago. Well, you women are 
queer things; in your place I’d have slipped it off, just as 
I slipped off the iron one at the penitentiary when the 
chance offered. There, no more tears, old girl. Perhaps I 
was a bit harsh with you ; but when a man’s been through 
what I have, his disposition is apt to suffer. ’ ’ 

Without a word Margaret left the room. Gideon fol- 
lowed her with his eyes. The moment he heard the door 
of the passage connecting with the store close behind her, 
he sprang to his feet, and advanced with a quick, stealthy 
tread to the mahogany dresser, the top drawer of which he 
tried with his knuckles. 

“When I looked in the window, half an hour ago, I saw 
her put something in here. Fast as a church door, ’ ’ he 
said, after trying in vain to open it. “Never mind,” he 
continued, with a cunning laugh and a covert glance at the 
door, “it’s the task of genius to overcome obstacles.” 

He drew from his trousers pocket a small bunch of skele- 
ton keys. 


SHENANDOAH. 


19 


“These,” he said, shaking them, “are the birds that 
have whistled open a stronger cage than this. ’ ’ 

After two or three attempts he unlocked the drawer and 
pulled it open. 

‘ ‘ What a precious lot of knickknacks women do keep 
about. I never could see the use of such trash. What’s 
this? A letter addressed to Miss Stella Ray? Must have 
dropped in here by accident. I’ll just put it on top where 
my dutiful wife won’t forget it. Oh !’’ he exclaimed, with 
a low whistle, ‘ ‘ Just as I thought. Quite a nest egg to be 
sure. All in gold, and gold is dreadful scarce. It was 
good of her to save these yellow boys against the return of 
her own true love. ’ ’ 

Mr. Sikes transferred Margaret’s little hoard of savings 
to his pocket. 

“I won’t touch the bright quarter with the bit of s’iled 
ribbon, ’ ’ he said ; “ I gave that to the old girl a year before 
we were married. What curious creatures women are ! Just to 
think, she’s kept that by her all these years, though all the 
time I’m sure she was hoping, p’raps praying, that the 
giver might never again darken her door. It does make a 
man feel just a bit queer — it reminds one of old times. 
Ah!’’ he exclaimed, suddenly closing the drawer. “Justin 
time. ’’ 

He turned his back to the dresser, and seemed to be medi- 
tatively regarding the supper-table as Margaret re-entered 
the room with a bottle and a glass. 

“I’ve brought you a bottle of Jamaica rum,’’ she said 
quietly, placing it upon the table. ‘ ‘ The stock of whisky is 
low, and the customers seem to prefer it to anything else. 
I thought you wouldn’t mind the difference.’’ 

‘ ‘ All right, Maggie, ’ ’ he said suavely. 

She started at the old familiar address, the blood flew 
into her face for an instant, and her eyes seemed to melt. 
Then, like the fading of a bright gleam of sunlight, the 
feeling was gone. 


20 


SHENANDOAH. 


“There’s a fire in the kitchen, yon had better ” 

“Warm up, eh? All right, old girl, in a minute.” 

He uncorked the bottle of spirits, half filled the tumbler, 
and after holding it up to the light of the lamp like a 
connoisseur, he drank it without a wink. 

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “that goes right to the spot. It 
puts new life into one. Now, if you’d just put a bite on 
the table while I dry otf a bit, I’m sure we’ll get on 
nicely. ’ ’ 

He walked into the little rear room, where the stove was, 
and stood with his back to the fire, just as though the world 
and he were on the easiest of terms, and no such thing 
as an outraged justice existed to threaten his repose. Not 
a word was spoken while Margaret prepared the tea, and 
when everything was ready she called him. 

Gideon helped himself abundantly, and ate like a man 
breaking a long fast, as indeed he was. 

“I call this a right royal spread,” he said at length, with 
his mouth full ;■ “I’ve supported sinking nature on less, 
many a time ; and now for a little confidential chat between 
man and wife, you know : what’s been going on since I’ve 
been away?” 

“Going on!” mechanically repeated Margaret, speaking 
like one awaking from a reverie. She had made but a pre- 
tence of sipping her tea. 

“Why the world hasn’t stood still, I suppose. How 
many of the neighbors have gone to the front, and— stayed 
there?” 

“Nearly all of the able-bodied men around here enlisted. 
A few returned at intervals,” she said sadly. “Many 
more will never return. War is a sad thing for the family 
left at home. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Of course, ’ ’ acquiesced Mr. Sikes, without, however, any 
display of feelipg. “How’s Major Ray?” 

‘ ‘ Dead, ’ ’ replied Margaret softly. 

“You don’t mean that? And Miss Stella Ray, what’s 
become of her?” 


SHENANDOAH. 


21 


‘ ‘ Miss -Stella Ray exists no longer, ’ ’ Margaret said 
coldly. 

“What ! you don’t mean she’s gone and died too?” 

“Miss Stella is now Mrs. Ashley Anderson.” 

“You — don’t — say,” said Gideon, emitting a low whistle. 
“Why I thought she gave him the mitten long ago.” 

“It was one of those marriages where the estates are 
closer together than the hearts, ’ ’ said Margaret, with a 
sigh. 

‘ ‘ I see, ’ ’ said Mr. Sikes, nodding his head sagaciously. 

“A man forgets a heap of things in three years — but I’ve 
not forgotten the colonel — no, nor what I owe him.” 

‘ What do you mean?” exclaimed Margaret, regarding 
her husband apprehensively, for his words covered an im- 
plied threat. 

“What do I mean, eh? It may have served your interests 
to forget and forgive. That’s like a woman. But it 
would be strange if I forgot that it was he who hounded me 
down ; who in his capacity of justice of the peace held me 
for trial, and whose evidence sent me to the penitentiary. 
No — curse him ! — I haven’t forgotten, and p’raps that’s one 
reason I’ve ventured back. No man ever did me an injury 
on whom I didn’t seek to get square. ” 

“Gideon!” said his wife, regarding him fixedly, “you 
wouldn’t dare ” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said mockingly. “Well, you wait 
and see. ’ ’ 

“Gideon Sikes,” exclaimed Margaret, rising from the 
table, “if you make the slightest attempt to injure Colonel 
Anderson — the husband of Stella, my truest and only friend 
—I’ll have you dragged from this house like a dog. I’ll 
expose you, yes, if I die for it.” 

Gideon for a moment regarded his wife in sheer amaze- 
ment. 


22 


SHENANDOAH, 


CHAPTER III. 

‘ ‘ YOU HAVE BROKEN MY HEART. ’ ’ 

“ So, ” SAID Mr. Sikes, recovering himself, and giving vent 
to a smothered imprecation. “Yon mean that, do yon?” 

“As God is my jndge!” said Margaret solemnly. 

“Well,” said Gideon, after a panse, dnring which his 
manner changed to a careless indifference, I didn’t think it 
of yon. ’ ’ 

“What have yon ever been to me since onr marriage? In 
what respect have you sought to hold the heart yon won?” 
with a sob. ‘ ‘ In what have I ever failed in my duty to 
yon, who have been unresponsive, as a faithful, true wife. 
Yon cannot— dare not accuse me. With shame I still ac- 
* knowledge yon my husband, yet I cannot wholly forget that 
you did feel a bit fond of me once, probably as much so as 
your low, unmanly nature was capable of exhibiting. That 
solitary memory, still green in my heart, bids me shield you 
from the world, even with my life ; but have a care — there is 
a limit even to my forbearance. That limit is reached when 
you aim at my darling Stella’s peace of mind, however 
indirectly. These are not idle words, Gideon Sikes. I 
pray to heaven you will heed them. ’ ’ 

Mr. Sikes made no reply to this burst of feeling on the 
part of his wife, but finished his meal in silence. He then 
coolly lit his pipe and went into the kitchen while the 
shock-headed youth came in from the store and ate his 
supper. 

The tea things were cleared away and the sitting-room 


SHENANDOAH. 


23 


had resumed its usual appearance by the time Gideon fin- 
ished his pipe. He re-entered the room. 

‘ ‘ It seems to me, ’ ’ said the amiable Mr. Sikes, with a 
curious chuckle, “that a woman is as changeable as a 
weathercock. If my memory is right in one particular, 
Miss Stella was going to marry Robert Graham. I know 
she appeared to be very soft on him. ’ ’ 

Margaret, who was standing by the sitting-room window, 
apparently watching the straggling edges of the storm, 
now passing away to the southwest, did not immediately 
reply. 

“Young Graham is a gentleman, every inch,’’ continued 
Sikes, after a pause. “I ain’t forgotten how he pulled me 
out of the milldam yonder at the risk of his life. I owe 
him a good turn for that, and I mean to square the account 
if I ever get the chance. ’ ’ 

“Your gratitude, ’’ slowly responded Margaret, with the 
slightest possible sneer, “I’m afraid will avail you nothing. 
Captain Graham is dead. ’ ’ 

“Dead!’’ exclaimed Mr. Sikes, in evident surprise. 

“Yes,’’ said his wife, still looking out of the window. 
“He was wounded at Bull Run, and subsequently died in the 
hospital at Richmond. ’ ’ 

“Oh, he did,” said Mr. Sikes, drawing a long breath. 

“And the news of his death nearly broke Stella’s heart. ” 

Gideon burst into an uproarious peal of laughter and 
smote his thigh violently, as if he had just heard a good 
joke. His wife regarded him with mingled wonder and 
indignation, in which, however, an acute physiognomist 
might have detected a shade of apprehension. 

‘ ‘ Well, ’ ’ said Mr. Sikes, as soon as his mirth subsided, 
“ it must have been his ghost then that I saw at Libby 
prison six weeks ago. ’ ’ 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that Robert Graham is no more dead than I am. 
Why, woman, I talked with him. He was nearly wild 


24 


SHENANDOAH. 


about Miss Stella, thinking how much she must suffer from 
their long separation. He begged me to see her, for .1 
mentioned that I was coming this way, and gave me a 
letter for her, but — I lost it. ” 

Margaret had turned very white during his recital, and 
looked so strange and frightened that her husband stared 
at her in surprise. 

“I say, old girl, what’s come over you. You ain’t sick, 
are you?” 

‘ ‘ Sick !’ ’ she said mechanically. ‘ * Oh, my God, what will 
I do?” 

She sank into a chair and covered her face. Just then 
came the noise of a carriage driven rapidly along the road, 
and then a sharp report and a muffled crash as though the 
vehicle had suddenly brought up against some obstacle in 
front of the building. 

Margaret appeared unconscious of the commotion outside, 
but Mr. Sikes’ allowed his curiosity to persuade him to open 
the entry door. 

The wind had subsided to a cool breeze, and the sky in 
part had cleared and was resplendent with stars. However, 
Mr. Sikes was in nowise interested in the face of nature. 
His acute ear caught the sound of a quick pit-a-pat on the 
gravel walk that led around the building. While he stood 
undecided whether or not he should close the door against 
the coming intruder, a tall, shapely woman, whom he in- 
stantly recognized, appeared around the corner, and advanced 
with a springy tread that indicated robust health. 

Gideon, leaving the door ajar, retired to the sitting-room, 
his face wearing a curious half-smile. 

“Colonel Anderson’s wife is here,” he said, in mocking 
tones. 

Margaret install jiy sprang to her feet. At the same 
moment Stella Anderson appeared at the door of the room. 

“Maggie, my dear, you look frightened. You heard the 
noise, then. Such a provoking accident, and it might have 


SHENANDOAH. 


25 


been a very serious affair. The forward wheel of my 
carriage came loose, the axle snapped, and I was let down all 
of a heap. So undignified you know, dear; but you don’t 
know how thankful I am, now that I begin to realize my 
narrow escape. ’ ’ 

The beauty threw her hat and cloak gracefully aside and 
softly kissed the rrembling Margaret. 

“I— am sorry,” she faltered. 

“Ah !” said Stella, with a glance at Mr. Sikes, “I see you 
are not alone. ’ ’ 

“It’s my ” began Margaret, when the astute Mr. Sikes. 

interfered. 

“Brother, ” he said, with a scrape and a bow, keeping his 
face partially averted. ‘ ‘ Samuel Gregson, of the Sixth Ala- 
bama infantry. Ain’t seen sis since she was so high, ” and 
Mr. Sikes illustrated the height with his hand. 

‘ ‘ Indeed, ’ ’ said Stella, regarding the speaker curiously. 
“It’s a fancy, perhaps, but your voice is strangely familiar 
to me. ’ ’ 

“No, no,” said Margaret, much agitated, going quickly 
to her husband. “Will you go?” she said to him in a hoarse 
whisper. 

“Why of course, ” said Mr. Sikes, with a grin, “two is 

company, three is But Isay,” moving toward the 

kitchen, “don’t forget the letter for Miss Stella.” 

“Letter!” exclaimed Stella. “Have you a letter for me, 
Margaret?” 

“Why, of course she has. Whoever wrote it don’t know 
you’re married, ma’am, for it’s directed to Miss Stella 
Ray.” 

“Oh,” said Stella in surprise, looking at Margaret; “how 
came it to be delivered here? When did it come?” 

‘ ‘ A letter, ’ ’ said Margaret, evidently mystified by the 
declaration, ‘ ‘ I know of no letter. ’ ’ 

“Why, how dull you are,” said Mr. Sikes, a bit surprised 
in turn. “I found it in the upper drawer of the dresser, 


26 


SHENANDOAH. 


and ” he stopped abruptly with an inward curse on his 

stupidity. 

Margaret gave a great cry and rushed up to the dresser. 
She saw the letter at once, and seizing it endeavored to 
conceal it in her dress. 

“Oho!” muttered Gideon, on observing the action. 
“I’m beginning to see which way the wind blows. I’ll 
have a pipe and think it over. ’ ’ 

He chuckled sardonically, and withdrew by way of the 
kitchen. Then the door of the extension was heard to 
slam, and the two women were alone. 

‘ ‘ Margaret , 5 ’ said Stella, coming close to her, * ‘ what is 
the meaning of this mystery? Let me see that letter. ” 

“Oh, no— no!” exclaimed Mrs. Sikes, almost hysterically. 

“And why not, if it be addressed to me?” 

“Don’t ask me— oh, don’t ask me ! I dare not. ” 

“Dare not!” exclaimed the queenly woman, drawing her- 
self up, and regarding Margaret sternly. “What can be 
addressed to Stella Ray that the wife of Colonel Anderson 
should not hear?” 

“Much— if ” 

“If what?” 

“Stella — sister — for I have ever looked on you as such — 
for heaven’s sake don’t ask to see this letter, ” cried the 
almost distracted woman, dropping on her knees and sob' 
bing pitifully. “It— it is— a message ” 

“A message!” repeated the mistress of the Anderson 
estates. 

‘ ‘ From the dead. ’ ’ 

“The dead!” exclaimed Stella, paling slightly. 

‘ ‘ Robert — Robert Graham. ’ ’ 

* ‘ Give me that letter, ’ ’ cried Stella, springing forward and 
snatching at the hand that held it. 

“No,” almost shrieked Margaret, and dragging herself 
away she tore the letter into fragments. Stella recoiled at 
the action. 


SHENANDOAH. 


27 


“Oh, my darling,” cried the unfortunate woman, who 
almost groveled at her feet, catching her dress. 

“The truth — the dreadful truth — so long hidden from you 
by your father and myself — must at last be spoken. Cap- 
tain Graham lives /” 

“Lives!” cried Stella. 

“I lied— we all lied, when we told you he was dead. But 
it was for your good — your good, my own darling sister, and 

to save your father from ” 

“Lives! Robert — alive! oh, impossible!” 

The beautiful woman spoke in a hushed voice, holding 
her hands to her temples as if in pain. 

“We all believed the announcement in the Richmond 

papers until it was too late — to^-to Oh, my sister, 

don’t look at me so, ” as Stella by a sudden movement 
seized her hands and gazed intently into her face — a riveted, 
yet wild and eager gaze. “Believe me, all was done for 
the best. I could not bear to see your father’s grief, I could 
not bear to see the estate pass away from you. Forgive 
me ! It was all done for the love of you, darling. ’ ’ 
“Forgive you!” exclaimed Stella, with sudden and start- 
ling energy, thrusting the cringing woman from her. ‘ 4 For- 
give you — never ! Woman — woman, you have broken my 
heart!” 


28 


SHENANDOAH* 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE WITHERED FORGET-ME-NOTS. 

About half a mile from the wrinkled old “grocery” 
where the events we have narrated were transpiring, was a 
deserted negro ‘ ‘ quarters. ’ ’ A ramshackle frame building 
of two stories that leaned with an air of decreptitude 
against an ancient oak tree of huge proportions. Within, 
the filth of years had blackened the original whitewash, 
and through gaping holes in the ceiling the roof could be 
seen. A large open fireplace, in which still hung a rusty 
crane, was choked with refuse and shrouded in cobwebs. 

When the storm burst over Strasburg and vicinity, a man 
and a lad of fourteen crept through an adjacent hedge and 
took shelter in the dilapidated building. They were cov- 
ered with dust and apparently worn out with fatigue. 

The youth threw himself upon the brick floor, thoroughly 
exhausted, his white face looking ghastly through its mask 
of dirt. He was an odd-looking boy, at the best, with a 
snub nose and a large mouth. His garments were faded 
and in tatters, but sufficiently indicative of the army. 

The man was unquestionably an officer. Handsome with- 
out a doubt when spruced up ; but now reduced by semi- 
starvation, exposure, and an extended tramp to scarcely 
more than a ghost of his former self. 

The man shut the rickety door against the rain. 

“How do you feel, Jim, lad,” he said, kneeling by the 
side of his youthful companion, and regarding the extended 
form pityingly. 

“I’m all broke up, cap,” answered the little drummer- 


SHENANDOAH. 


29 


boy wearily. “Me mout’ is like a furniss. Ain’t dere 
any water nowhere. ’ ’ 

“Yes, my boy, heaven has sent us water in the rain. 
Hark ! Don’t you hear it?” 

“Yep — and it blows like a t’ousand of bricks.” 

The captain took his hat, shook off the dust, and going to 
the door held the hollowed crown under a spurt of rain- 
water. Returning to the boy, he raised him to a sitting 
posture and put the improvised water carrier to his lips. 
The lad drank with a choking eagerness that was pathetic, 
draining the last drop. He sank back with a sigh of satis- 
faction to a recumbent attitude. 

The officer then took a refreshing draught himself, after- 
ward washing the dust from his face and hands. 

“We’ve had a bitter hard time of it, Jim, since we slipped 
away from old Libby, but I now hope for a respite of a day or 
two. ’ ’ 

“What, here, cap?” 

“No, lad, not here; but under a friendly roof not far 
distant. But for this storm we had been there now. ” 

“Yous ain’t gladder dan dis chicken fur a chance ter 
rest yer bones. ’ ’ 

“I’m particularly glad for your sake, Jim. You’ve stood 
our weary and dangerous tramp like a little man, even after 
your poor lame leg gave out. ’ ’ 

“I ain’t made’r pie-crust, cap. I was raised in de 
Sixth ward, New York, and I oughter stand de racket.” 

“You were tough enough, I dare say, Jim, when you 
ran away and joined the ranks ; but your six months’ stay 
in Libby prison took a good deal of your vitality. You 
were treated worse than the dogs. It was well I was not 
by when that cowardly soldier lamed you with his brutal 
kick. ” 

“I’m glad yous wasn’t, cap. Yer ud been flogged fur 
interference. If I’d had half a chance I’d a put a wax 
nose on that mutton-headed snoozer.” 


30 


SHENANDOAH. 


“As soon as this storm holds up, Jim, we will reconnoiter 
our place of refuge. It’s ah old building on the Strasburg 
turnpike, about half a mile distant. A sort of general 
goods store, kept by a woman whose friendly offices I feel I 
can surely rely upon. ” 

“I’d give everything I ever expect ter own fur a good 
square meal about dis time. Me stummik is like a balloon 
—it’s full’r wind. ” 

“Fried ham, eggs and corn cake, with coffee, for in- 
stance, ’ ’ suggested the captain laughingly. 

“Don’t— yous make me mout’ water.” 

‘ ‘ I think I can guarantee a bill of fare equal to that, at 
least for a day or so, if nothing unforeseen interferes. ” 

“Hoppin’ Peter, won’t I jes’ fill up,” said the lad, with 
a grin, that, owing to the darkness, was lost on his com- 
panion. “Holy smoke, how it rains, and de t’under is 
gettin’ closer.” 

The storm was coming on apace. The lightning be- 
came brighter and brighter w T ith each successive flash, and 
the intervals between the lurid gleams and the electric 
shocks of heaven’s artillery grew correspondingly less. 

The wind-swept rain lashed the “quarters” unmerci- 
fully, prying out every crevice for an entrance, as if 
conscious that a pair of unfortunate human beings had 
sought this habitation for the purpose of evading its fury. 

Silence reigned in the building as the storm-god came 
rushing onward on the wind’s pinions, searcning the land- 
scape with his flashing eye and growling ominously. 

The boy’s breathing deepened into the sleep of the weary, 
but the captain was too wide-awake to the situation to 
court slumber. He was thinking — thinking of the girl 
whose tress of wavy golden hair nestled next his heart, 
where he had carried it through battle, sickness, and the 
horrors of the Richmond prison. Thinking of the fair, 
bright face he had not seen for more than three years ; of 
the melting brown eyes, shining with a love-light that 


SHENANDOAH. 


31 


thrilled his nature to the core ; of the lovely lips that had 
spoken the whispered “yes.” And she, the one proud 
ambition of his life, was in all likelihood still living at the 
old homestead, scarce a mile distant from this negro 
hovel. 

Thus passed an hour on leaden wings to the gallant Union 
officer. Then the worst of the storm had passed, and he 
prepared to press forward to the temporary asylum he had 
fixed upon. 

“Come, Jim, wake up — we must be on the move.” 

‘ ‘ All right, cap, ’ ’ said the boy, rousing himself quickly, 
though his eyes were heavy, and tired nature rebelled 
against this fresh exaction. 

They left the bulding, and cautiously took their way 
across the fields. The captain was familiar with the 
locality, and found no difficulty in piloting their steps in 
the right direction. 

In fifteen minutes they came to a split-rail fence which 
he knew marked the beginning of the old Ray homestead. 
Before them stood the building mentioned in the opening 
chapter, a bright light shining from what the captain re- 
membered to be the sitting-room window of Mrs. Sikes’ 
living apartments. 

Approaching the place through the truck patch, the 
officer told the boy to conceal himself in a small disused 
structure that had once served for a carriage-house, while 
he went forward to investigate. 

The captain crossed the open space to the house itself, 
and hugging the shadows crept up to the window through 
which the light shone. He peered in. A low cry escaped 
his lips, for the first object his eyes fell upon was Stella — 
the queen of his heart — standing in the center of the room. 
So intoxicated was he with the vision that he did not 
notice the form of Mrs. Sikes, cowering at the girl’s feet, 
nor did he comprehend the slightest detail of the heart-rend- 
ing scene that was being enacted. He only saw his sweet- 


32 


SHENANDOAH. 


heart, there almost within arm’s reach, and every other 
consideration was as nought to the exhilaration of the 
moment. 

“You’ve wrecked my life! Yes— my life!” Stella was 
saying. “You’ve wrecked and destroyed my happiness for 
as long as ever I live upon this earth. 

“Oh, but listen,” cried Margaret. 

“No. I’ve listened too long. I loved Robert Graham, 
and you knew it. You could not help but know it; yet, 
knowing it, you leagued with those who swept away my 
only hope of happiness in this world. ’ ’ 

* ‘ Your father knew of it— it was done for the best— for 
the best,” cried Margaret imploringly. 

“When first they told me he was dead, a terrible longing 
possessed me to go down to the river and end the misery I 
felt to be enshrouding me. Oh ! why did I hesitate ? Why 
—why?” 

“My darling— my sister— have patience !” 

“For what?” cried Stella, almost fiercely. “To endure a 
sorrow that death only can end?” 

“Forgive me ! oh, forgive me !” 

“No!” 

She thrust Margaret aside with such violence that the 
poor woman fell against the dresser, then seizing her hat 
and cloak she walked sternly toward the entry, meaning 
to leave the house at once, and go home afoot by the short 
cut through the lane. But she recoiled as a form, pale and 
haggard to a degree, and travel-stained, but whom her 
woman’s heart instantly knew, blocked the doorway to the 
sitting-room and then advanced with outstretched arms. 

“Stella ! Stella ! my love ! my life !” cried Captain Robert 
Graham. Then he paused, on perceiving her stony look 
and agitated manner. “I’ve frightened you, my love, is 
it not so ? Oh ! but if you knew how I have looked forward 
to this moment. Nay,” said he tenderly, taking her hand 
and trying to turn her toward him, “let me look on that 


I *- I 



“You’ve wrecked and destroyed my happiness for as long as I live 
upon this earth.”— See page 32. 





■ i \ 




. • . . ^ 




































































































■ 





































































8 












































- 












































e 

















• * 










SHENANDOAH 


33 


sweet face which — Ah ! I was wrong to come upon you so 
suddenly — I should have remembered how joy sometimes 
deals a blow as terrible as grief. ’ ’ 

“Robert, why are you here?” said Stella, raising her head 
slightly, and speaking in a low, hoarse voice, and with a 
great effort. “Where have you been?” 

“Been !” 

Captain Graham looked at her partially averted face in 
wonder, then as if a sort of suspicion were daw T ning upon 
him, he said almost fiercely : 

‘ ‘ And you ask me that ! Been ! I have been in a Richmond 
hospital for months, and I wrote you of my condition the 
day I was transferred to Libby prison, where I was confined 
ever since, bereft of every hope but one— the hope of seeing 
you again. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I never received your letter. Ask that woman why. 
All said that you were dead — all. Oh, Robert, Robert, you 
can never know how bitterly I have mourned for you !” 

She said all this without lifting her eyes to his face. 

“But now, darling, all such mourning is over,” he said, 
recovering his equanimity. “I am here — here at your feet 
— unchanged in all but suffering. ’ ’ 

Captain Graham sank on one knee, and catching her hand 
covered it with kisses. 

“You must not ! Go, Robert ! I implore you to go !” 

She drew her hand from him and stepped back. Graham 
rose with a stifled cry. 

“And this is my welcome !” he said, with a burst of 
passionate feeling. “Can it be that you love me no longer, 
Stella? What can have changed you thus? No answer! 
Yet why should you speak? words are unnecessary, and 
the love which I, fool that I was, believed eternal, has 
vanished like other dreams. Be' it so ; but as you were my 
first love so shall you be my last. At your feet have I cast 
all — all that I had of talent, of passion, of enthusiasm, of 
hope — as Raleigh cast his mantle at the foot of his queen — 


34 


SHENANDOAH. 


and now what remains? The soil of a careless footprint, 
he said bitterly, ‘ ‘ never, never to be elf aced. ’ ’ 

“Oh, misery! cruel, cruel!” moaned Stella, swaying to 
and fro in her agony. 

“ ’Tis now more than three years since we parted,” con- 
tinued the captain, in a broken voice, drawing from an 
inner receptacle of his tattered uniform a few withered 
flowers tied with a faded ribbon. “You placed in my hand 
this little bunch of forget-me-nots. You do not recognize 
them. True, they are withered, but they have been mois- 
tened often with tears, and stained, as you see, with blood 
—for the rebel bullet entered about my heart at Bull Run. 
In the hospital the flowers were not taken from me. The 
kind Southern nurse in the ward where I lay intuitively 
guessed the secret, and when they took me away, the 
flowers lay in their accustomed place— on my heart. ’ ’ 

“Oh, my heart will break!” cried Stella, with a 
moan. 

‘ ‘ Speak, Stella ! are these withered flowers after all but a 
sad emblem of my equally faded hopes?” 

Just* then came the sound of feet on the walk outside. 
Mr. Sikes entered the room as the captain uttered his plain- 
tive appeal. 

“ Colonel Ashley Anderson is here, ma’am,” he said, with 
a keen glance which seemed to comprehend the situation. 

“My husband !” cried Stella, recovering herself by a 
powerful effort. 

‘ ‘ Husband P ’ 

Robert Graham dropped heavily into a chair by the wall. 
Then with a burst of indignant emotion he rose to his feet 
and cast the withered flowers at Stella’s feet. 

“Oh, you false heart! If ever man trusted woman I 
trusted you. ’ ’ 

“Have mercy, Captain Graham,” interposed Margaret, 
her face suffused with tears. 

The captain motioned her away, and then advanced to 
the shrinking Stella : 


SHENANDOAH. 


35 


“Farewell l” he said. 

Then he turned and slowly walked toward the door ; but 
half way he paused, turned, and with an utter change of 
manner, came back to lifer quickly. 

“Forgive me,” he said, “I know not what I say — I know 
not what I do. One word — one word !” 

“You have already uttered it,” said Stella, raising her 
head and speaking with effort. “Farewell !” 

Then she sank fainting into Margaret’s arms. 


36 


SHENANDOAH, 


CHAPTER V. 

“i WISH, OH GOD, THAT I WERE DEAD!” 

The Shenandoah Valley never looked brighter than on 
the morning following the events narrated. The 'storm of 
the evening before had swept all the cobwebs off the face of 
nature, and left her smiling her sweetest and looking her 
fairest. The dusty roads were a bit muddy to be sure, but 
the sun soon dried them to a befitting hardness, without 
the previous filtering of dust stirred up by weeks of drought. 
The trees glistened in the early sunlight, and the shrubbery 
sparkled with myriads of raindrops, so that the landscape 
seemed strewn with diamonds far and wide. The Blue 
Ridge range, rose clear and verdure-clad in the near dis- 
tance, and Three Top Mountain stood prominently against 
a background of ethereal azure. 

The Anderson homestead was a fine, solid-looking brick 
building, of three stories, crowned by a cupola. It was an 
aristocratical old edifice, that is the main structure it- 
self, which was something like forty years old. The walls 
were nearly three feet thick, and on two sides were perfo- 
rated at frequent intervals by large windows that overlooked 
the property, and the Valley of the Shenandoah, from the 
vantage of the summit of a gentle declivity. On the third 
side an extensive modern addition had been put up about 
two years before, and an L had also been projected from the 
rear. 

The grounds contiguous to the mansion were laid out in 
excellent taste — the chief feature being the lawn that sloped 
to the road, through which ran a wide gravel walk from its 


SHENANDOAH. 


37 


intersection in front of the porch with the carriage drive. 
The stable, and various supernumerary buildings at the 
rear, were shaded from too general observation by a row of 
poplar trees. 

A large tract of land, which since Colonel Anderson’s 
marriage included the Ray estate, stretched away on either 
hand, and back to a deep flowing creek that marked one of 
the boundaries. 

Job Hendricks, whose duties as overseer called him early 
abroad, was standing in front of the stables, thinking that 
it was most time for him to go to breakfast, when his med- 
itations were intruded upon by the appearance of a thick- 
set man in a shabby black coat and army gray contin nations 
— in a word, Gideon Sikes. 

“You’re the overseer, ain’t you?” inquired Mr. Sikes, 
with a deferential air. 

‘ ‘ I am, ’ ’ replied Hendricks, eyeing the man sharply, and 
not at all taken with his plastered physiognomy and ser- 
vile manner. 

“I was told to give you this note,” said Margaret’s ami- 
able husband, taking off his soft hat and abstracting a folded 
paper, which he presented to the manager. 

Job Hendricks took the paper, and unfolding it proceeded 
to make himself familiar with the contents. After which 
he again surveyed the messenger with the same unfavor- 
able scrutiny. 

“You are Samuel Gregson, ” said the overseer abruptly. 

“That’s the name I answer to,” replied the pseudo Mr. 
Gregson, with a slight grin. 

“Brother of Mrs. Margaret Sikes, I think?” 

“For a fact,” replacing his hat. 

“You look as though you’d been in the army,” said the 
overseer. 

‘ ‘ I have. ’ ’ 

“Deserted, I s’pose, ” continued his inquisitor, dryly. 

“No,” said Mr. Sikes with a half-snarl, “discharged.” 


38 


SHENANDOAH. 


“Umph ! What regiment did you belong to?” 

“Sixth Alabama.” 

“Where did you leave it?” 

“At Richmond, ” surlily, for Gideon didn’t relish this 
cross-examination. 

“How came you to be discharged?” 

“Wounded at the battle of the Wilderness,” growled Mr. 
Sikes. 

“It is not usual to discharge men before their time has 
expired. Lee needs all the soldiers he can get. You’re not 
telling the truth, that’s evident. However, I’ll consider this 
note of Colonel Anderson’s. What can you do?” 

“I’m handy at most anything,” said Mr. Sikes ingenu- 
ously. 

“Are you familiar with the care of horses?” 

“That’s where I’m right at home, ” said Mr. Sikes. “Just 
try me. ’ ’ 

“Very well, ” said Hendricks curtly, “I’m short-handed 
in the stables. You can come. Stay round here till I re- 
turn, then I’ll see what you can do. ” 

The overseer turned on his heel, and left the fictitious 
Samuel Gregson to sun himself on a bench till his return. 

‘ ‘ Curse him for an inquisitive meddler, ’ ’ muttered Gideon ; 
“what right has he to fire his insolence at me, I’d like to 
know. I’ll let him understand it’s hands off, or he’ll find I 
can bark — and bite, too. ’ ’ 

Mr. Sikes didn’t look particularly amiable at that mo- 
ment, and the pigeons that flew down from their box above, 
as was their wont, allowed him a wide berth. 

Gideon gave no further audible expression to his thoughts, 
but they were certainly not pleasant bosom familiars, if 
one could judge by the settled scowl that darkened his unin- 
viting countenance. 

In due course Hendricks returned, and Mr. Sikes, being 
introduced to his stable duties, showed perfect familiarity 
therewith. The manager, though he distrusted the new 


SHENANDOAH. 


39 


man, found no loophole for complaint. He felt satisfied 
Gregson would do. 

Mr. Sikes had, for reasons of his own, said nothing to his 
wife about taking a situation at Colonel Anderson’s place. 
Therefore Margaret was not a little disturbed when she 
went to call him to breakfast to find that he was not about 
the premises. 

She was of course unaware that Gideon, with his accus- 
tomed assurance, had interviewed the colonel on the previ- 
ous night, while that gentleman sat in his carriage waiting 
to take his young wife home. On the strength of repre- 
senting himself as Margaret’s brother, he had persuaded the 
retired officer to give him a note to his overseer, directing 
that functionary to employ the bearer upon the estate. 

Margaret had discovered the loss of her little hoard of 
gold, put away to provide against the proverbial “rainy 
day;” and, as she was at no loss to understand who 
had appropriated it, her worthless husband sank several 
degrees lower in her contempt. 

She, poor woman, had spent a sleepless night. She feared 
that all was over between Stella and herself — that her former 
mistress (dear as each had been to the other) would never 
forgive her the bit of treachery that had ended so disastrously 
for two loving hearts. Her only comfort now was that 
she had persuaded Captain Graham to accept the shelter of 
her house for a brief time, as had been his original inten- 
tion. It was a dangerous proceeding on her part, for if the 
fact leaked out that she was befriending an officer of the 
Federal army, and abetting his escape, a prison for her and 
the entire loss of home, and the business she had fostered, 
was the very least she had to expect at the hands of the 
authorities. 

Did she hesitate? N o. It was the only way open to 
repay a tithe of the wrong she had unwittingly been instru- 
mental in bringing about. If necessary she was ready to 
lay down her life for the young officer, and count her sacri- 


40 


SHENANDOAH. 


flee as nought — since even if Graham’s manly nature con- 
doned her crime, she could never-never forgive herself as 
long as she lived. 

Captain Graham and the little drummer boy, Jimmy 
Montgomery, were secreted on the floor above the store. 
Here they were practically safe from discovery, as the 
second and third floors of the main building were unoccu- 
pied and only used for storing empty boxes and such-like 
lumber. Access was had by a wide stairway at the rear of 
the ground floor, but the door at the head of this mode of 
entrance was now carefully barred up, and communication 
temporarily opened up by a door leading out of the bed- 
room on the floor above the sitting-room. 

Jimmy was enchanted with the prospect of unlimited 
“grub,” and at least thirty-six consecutive hours’ rest. His 
first impulse was to execute a mild imitation of a darkey 
break-down dance, such as he had witnessed on one never- 
to-be-forgotten occasion at the Bowery Theatre, in New 
York, but the captain, in the interests of prudence, forbade 
any such exhibition of the young man’s ebullition of 
feeling. 

It is hardly to be wondered at that Captain Graham, in 
spite of his exhausted physical condition, found sleep an 
impossibility during the long hours of darkness following 
his distracting interview with the woman he loved — now, 
alas ! lost to him. 

If one moment he held Stella responsible for the acute 
mental agony he endured, the next his overcharged heart 
was ready to plead a thousand excuses for her weakness. He 
did not know till later to what extent Margaret figured in 
the cruel drama ; but when, on the morning ensuing, the 
poor woman confessed in tears her share in the transaction, 
and begged his forgiveness, he pitied her from his heart, and 
while he could not acquit, freely pardoned her. 

Mrs. Sikes devoted as much time during the day as she 
dared to looking after the comfort of her two charges. In- 


SHENANDOAH. 


41 


deed her over-anxiety in this direction was her chief dan- 
ger. It aroused the sluggish curiosity of the shock-headed 
youth, who had not forgotten the advent of the mysterious 
visitor of the night before, and though slow to reach a con- 
clusion, by and by began to figure out a connection between 
that incident and his mistress’ unusual behavior. It is 
true that whatever form his suspicions assumed, he was 
wide of the actual facts, but his crude reasoning was none 
the less perilous to Margaret’s peace of mind. 

“Isay, cap,” said Jimmy, chewing voraciously at a leg 
of the roast chicken which had been served for their mid- 
day meal, “wot’s de matter wid yous, eny way. Yer ain’t 
got eny more appetite dan a sick fly. ’ ’ 

“Don’t mind me, lad— I’m doing very well,” said the 
officer soberly. 

“Oh, come off — somet’ing’s in de wind, or yous kin put 
me down fur a red-headed duffer. P’raps yous tink ’cause 
I’m a kid dat I ain’t dead on ter de fact dat dere’s a screw 
loose somewhere since last night. ’ ’ 

“Nonsense, Jimmy,” said Graham, with a weak kind of 
smile. 

“Don’t yous try to stuff me, cap, I wasn’t born last week 
I’ve been keepin’ a eye on yous all mornin’. You’ve been 
sittin’ on dat ere box by de winder, an’ pretendin’ yous 
was lookin’ at de country, all de time I cud hear yous 
sighin’ like a sick monkey, an’ when you t’ ought I wasn’t 
lookin’, wipin’ de moisture outer yer eyes. I don’t s’pect 
dat yous are goin’ ter take me inter yer confidence — I ain’t 
jest der kind of adwiser dat a gent like you ud cotton ter ; 
but if I kin do any ting for yous, as will help yer, I’ll do it 
if I die for it. ’ ’ 

The last words were spoken so earnestly and forcibly that 
Captain Graham started and regarded the lad in some 
surprise. The boy, however, never stopped in his well- 
directed attack upon the rations before him. 

“P’raps,” continued Jimmy, after a pause to take breath, 


42 


SHENANDOAH. 


“dat yous don’t tink it in de line of a kid like me ter feel a 
gratitood fur wot yous hev done fur me. I ain’t furgot dat 
yous once was put in de black hole fur objectin’ ter der 
t ’umpin’ a Secesh officer was a givin’ me fur nothin’ at 
all. I ain’t furgot dat yer nursed me when I was done up 
wid de prison fever. I ain’t furgot many udder t’ings dat 
only a out-and-out gent like yous ud take de trouble ter do 
fur a good-fur-nothin’ kid as hadn’t eny friends, and wot 
de Johnny Rebs t’ ought was only good fur worms ter chew 
on. And I ain’t furgot, ” said Jimmy, emphasizing the 
remark with a blow of the chicken drumstick on his plate, 
“how yous wouldn’t give dem de grand sneak till yous saw 
de chance ter take me wid yer. I ain’t in no hurry ter put 
on wings an’ be a little angel, but if I t ’ought by doin’ dat 
I could save yer from goin’ back ter Libby, yous kin bet yer 
pile I’d order a harp at once. ” 

There was no mistaking the purport of Jimmy’s rude burst 
of oratory. He was in dead earnest. The captain was the 
one true friend he had discovered in a world that he 
hitherto knew as very hard and selfish, bristling with 
antagonisms against which he was always running and 
coming off second best from the encounter. But the lad 
was a rough diamond. Under the crust of rude habits, lack 
of education, and refining influences were concealed 
qualities that a prince might envy and respect. 

Captain Graham was visibly affected. 

“My lad,” he said sadly, “your eyes are sharp, for 
something has occurred that has upset me more than I dare 
confess. ’ ’ 

“There,” said the drummer boy, triumphantly, “I 
know’d it; I could read it in yer face. And I’ll bet that 
’ere gal of your’n is at ther bottom of it. ” 

“Why, Jimmy—” began the officer. 

“P’raps yous ’tink I haven’t seen yer kissing a golden 
curl dat yer alwus carried next yer heart. I sez ter meself, 
de cap’s gal gave him dat when dey parted. Ain’t I k’rect? 


SHENANDOAH. 


43 


Since we left Richmond I’ve heard yons talk in yer sleep 
about her. When yous woke np yer alwus got dat curl out 
and looked at it. Yous wus happy fur a fact. Cap, yer 
haven’t looked at dat curl all day, and yer aint happy fur a 
cent. ’ ’ 

“Jimmy, you’ve guessed my secret, lad. My little girl 
is mine no longer. She's lost to me forever, and I wish, 
oh G-od, that I were dead. ’ ’ 

The captain rose, stretched his hands toward heaven, and 
then fell back and covered his face with them. 


44 


SHENANDOAH 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE MADNESS OF LOVE. 

4 ‘Your accounts are correct, Hendricks.” 

Colonel Ashley Anderson and the overseer of the estate 
were seated in the library, in the new wing of the Ander- 
son homestead. As the colonel spoke, he turned from his 
desk and handed the manager the books and papers which 
it was his business at proper intervals to submit to the 
inspection of his employer. 

“By the way, I think you said that you have employed a 
new hand about the stables — a brother of Mrs. Sikes, ’ ’ con- 
tinued the colonel, removing his glasses. 

“Yes, sir ; a person by the name of Samuel Gregson. He 
brought a note of recommendation signed by yourself, ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes; I had quite forgotten the circumstance. I 
remember now the fellow came to me while I sat in the 
carriage in front of the Sikes’ store, the night before last. 
He said he was Margaret’s brother, and was very importu- 
nate in his request for employment. It was an unusual 
proceeding on my part, but more to be rid of the fellow 
than anything else I wrote the note on a leaf torn from my 
memorandum book. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I was not inclined to engage him, sir. He is not exactly 
the sort of person I care to have upon the premises. But 
since Pieter ran away, the horses have not been properly 
attended to, and as this man Gregson appears to be familiar 
with everything connected with the stables, why I thought 
it best to give him a trial. ’ ’ 

“You did quite right, Hendricks. You know I take pride 


SHENANDOAH. 


45 


in my horses, and they must not suffer. I noticed this fel- 
low, Gregson, to-day, and it struck me that I’ve seen him 
before. However, it doesn’t matter. In consideration 
of the interest my wife has always taken in Margaret Sikes, 
I am glad to favor any respectable relative of the worthy 
woman’s. ” 

“I suppose you have no further instructions, Colonel 
Anderson, ’ ’ said the overseer, rising. 

“Nothing more, Hendricks. Have the carriage ready in 
an hour, so that I shall get to the station in time for the 
9 :40 train. ’ ’ 

“Very well, sir. ” 

Job Hendricks withdrew, and the colonel closing his desk 
went upstairs to the sitting-room. Here he found his sister, 
Miss Anderson, and Stella in the act of removing their light 
wraps. The latter sank upon a sofa, leaning her head 
back with half-closed eyes, as if tired and weary. 

“Well, brother, we’re in time to again say good-by,” 
said Miss Anderson gayly. 

“You’re very kind to make such haste for me,” said the 
colonel. 

“Oh, I deserve no thanks. I should have flirted all night 
without giving you a thought, but Stella hurried me away 
— she’d a headache, or a heartache, or something. ” 

“She hasn’t been well since her carriage broke down, 
night before last, in front of Mrs. Sikes’ store. Are you 
not better, Stella?” he said, gently addressing his wife. 
“You look pale. ” 

“A headache, that’s all, ” said Stella, a little peevishly. 
“I hate these dinner parties — besides, it’s been a stifling 
day. ’ ’ 

“True, ” said the colonel, “I am sorry. It has been a hot 
day. I believe another thunderstorm is coming on. ’ ’ 

As if in confirmation of the colonel’s words, the low rum- 
bling of distant thunder was wafted through the open 
window. 


46 


SHENANDOAH. 


“Why don’t you postpone your trip till to-morrow?” said 
Miss Anderson. 

“Nonsense,” said her brother, “railroads are independent 
of the elements ; besides I am too old a soldier to let a 
dash of weather interfere with my engagements. ’ ’ 

“You always would have your way, Ashley, ” she replied, 
shrugging her pretty shoulders. 

The colonel smiled. 

“I am sorry, May, that Stella’s indisposition should have 
stopped you in your career of conquest. ’ ’ 

“Now don’t, pray don’t,” laughed Miss Anderson, “I’ve 
had a surfeit of compliments. You men feed us on nothing 
but sugar as if we were birds in a cage. ’ ’ 

“I hope some admirer may offer you a golden one. ” 

“To keep me a prisoner, eh?” said the young lady 
archly. 

“With the prettiest fetter in the world — a ring.” 

‘ ‘ And the hardest to break, ’ ’ she said, with a rippling 
laugh. ‘ ‘ Thank you, I value my liberty too much. ’ ’ 

“Take care, May,” he said, smiling. “You may be 
caught when you least expect it. ’ ’ 

Miss Anderson seemed greatly amused at this insinua- 
tion, and shook her jeweled finger at her brother. 

“De carriage am waitin’, sah, ” said a coloied man, ap- 
pearing at the door. 

“I will be down presently, ” said the colonel. “Good- 
by, my darling, for a few hours, ’ ’ he said, crossing to his 
wife and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. 

‘ ‘ Good-by, ’ ’ she said, without making a movement. 

“Poor child, ” thought the old officer, “how tired she 
looks. ’ ’ 

“Good-by, sis. I will be back not later than to-morrow 
afternoon,” he said, taking up his hat and light overcoat. 

“A pleasant journey, brother.” 

Gideon Sikes was standing in the hall below with a light 
valise in liis hand. The door of the main parlor was 


SHENANDOAH. 


47 


slightly ajar, and he was trying to catch a glimpse of the 
grand things beyond. A peculiar, crafty, eager look shone 
from his eyes, and his tongue passed over his lips with a 
hungry smack. 

* ‘ Come, fellow, ’ ’ said the colonel, who had reached the 
foot of the stairs without Gideon having noticed his 
approach ; “what are you doing here?” 

Mr. Sikes turned quickly and deferentially muttered that 
he had been told to fetch the valise. 

“Look sharp, then, my man,” said the master of the 
house, in his abrupt military fashion, passing out. 

“I’ll prove myself a little sharper than you think, or my 
name’s not Gideon Sikes,” hissed the counterfeit Gregson 
under his breath, following the man he hated, and, let it be 
known, feared. 

An hour later Stella Anderson bade her sister-in-law 
good-night and retired to her own apartments in the older 
part of the house. Her private sitting-room commanded a 
sweeping view of the Valley. Without turning up the lights 
which burned low, thereby leaving the further corners a 
prey to the shadows, Stella walked directly to one of the 
windows. She threw open the blinds, and clutching the 
light figured curtains, leaned forward in an agitated 
manner. 

“Yonder he sleeps to-night, if sleep can visit a heart 
benumbed and torn like his. I pity him from my soul ; yet, 
alas ! am I not also to be pitied? Oh, love, which others find 
so sweet, how cruelly you have made us suffer !” 

Stella moaned in anguish of spirit. 

“Now that I know he lives, what a mockery is life to 
me! What shall I do? alas, what can I do? My brain 
throbs as though it would burst. Before my husband I 
must wear a mask of ice, while my very being is con- 
suming with an inextinguishable fire. ” 

The somber storm-clouds that were advancing up the Val- 
ley, riven at intervals with lurid streaks of light, seemed to 


48 


SHENANDOAH, 


bear an analogy to the wild tumult that raged in this 
woman’s soul. 

A bright flash of light lit up her pale face, and a sharp 
peal of thunder startled her. 

“I cannot stay here to-night. My nerves are all upset 
and this coming storm terrifies me. I will go to May’s 
room. Her presence at least will sooth and rest me. But 
first I must put away these ornaments— my husband’s wed- 
ding presents — for they remind me too acutely of the ada- 
mantine wall between myself and the man I have never 
ceased to love. ’ ’ 

As Stella hurried into her bedchamber, a sharp clicking 
sound for an instant smote upon the silence of the room she 
had just quitted. Then from the shadows that obscured 
the furthest corner there seemed to evolve a darker and 
more phantom-like shadow that moved from its lair, and by 
impalpable degrees assumed the figure of a man. 

‘ ‘ These are the rooms she occupies, ’ ’ said a voice strangely 
like Robert Graham’s. “It is difficult to see anything in 
this dim light. Ah! here is the lace I last saw upon her 
shoulders in Margaret’s sitting-room,” pressing it to his 
lips. “I think I shall go mad !” he said bitterly, throwing 
down the scarf. “Nay I am mad ! What else but madness 
could bring me here? What, but the desperation of my 
love ! Escaping as I am from the horrors of a rebel prison, 
still m the very midst of the enemy’s lines, yet I risk all — 
freedom, even life itself — for the chance of speaking to her 
again. For this opportunity I am indebted to yonder pri- 
vate passage from the garden, which I accidentally discov- 
ered— no doubt she is unaware of its existence — while I — ” 
suddenly impressed with the delicacy of his position — ‘ ‘ I feel 
like a villain. ’ ’ 

As he stood undecided how to proceed, now in full relief 
under the swinging bronze lamp in the center of the room, 
Stella hurriedly re-entered the apartment. 

‘ ‘ Bow my heart beats, ’ ’ she said, ‘ ‘ I never was so timid 
bef ’ ’ 


SHENANDOAH. 


49 


A brilliant flash of lightning punctuated her words, which, 
followed almost immediately by the roll of thunder, caused 
her to pause in alarm. On the instant she became conscious 
of the presence in the room, and with a low cry recoiled. 

“Stella.” 

Robert Graham uttered these words with inexpressible 
tenderness. 

“Robert! Captain Graham! here!” she gasped. 

‘ ‘ Stella, I must speak to you, ’ ’ he said entreatingly. 

* 1 By what means have you entered this house, ’ ’ she said 
faintly. 

“By a secret passage, apparently long disused, connecting 
with the garden. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Captain Graham, your conduct fills me with horror, ’ ’ she 
said, drawing further away. 

“Horror!” he said, in dismay. 

“Yes,” she said, gradually recovering her self-posses- 
sion, ‘ ‘ with more than horror — with scorn and indignation. 
You love me, ’ ’ there was a disdainful ring in her voice 
now, ‘ ‘ you never ’ ’ 

“Demand a proof — any proof!” he cried impetuously. 

‘ ‘ I demand but one, ’ ’ she said, * ‘ leave me, and leave me 
at once !” 

“Stella !” he said imploringly. 

‘ ‘ Sir, ’ ’ she answered, with sudden dignity, ‘ ‘ I am the 
wife of Colonel Ashley Anderson. ” 

“Then,” he replied bitterly, “to Mrs. Anderson I speak. 
Yet, no, ’ ’ he continued brokenly, ‘ ‘ I cannot address you 
thus. For months and months I have longed for this mo- 
ment — months of torture, of misery, of despair. ’ ’ 

He turned up the light and looked at her intently. 

“But your eye has lost some of its brightness, and there 
are lines in your face that show' strangely in one so young. 
You have sulfered also.” 

“I have suffered,” she said coldly, but with evident 
effort, ‘ ‘ yet never so much as at this moment . 1 ’ 


50 


SHENANDOAH. 


‘ ‘ Think of me as yon will— yet have I suffered as few men 
are tried. The thought of yon alone sustained me in the 
darkest hours of a prison that was in itself a hell. The 
bliss of again seeing you face to face covered every foot of 
my weary and perilous flight from Richmond with the tint 
of happiness. That dream was shattered two nights ago. 
Yet I am here. You despise me— I despise myself for the 
weakness to which my manhood yielded. It was cruel, 
cowardly in me to come here— yet, God help me, I felt I 
must see you again though I sacrificed my soul in the 
attempt. And now you will not believe I still love you. ’ ’ 
“Robert,” Stella said in softer tones, struggling with her 
emotion, “you say you love me, and,” with a powerful 
effort to check her agitation, “I believe you— but I have 
learned in this world love is made up of sacrifice— and the 
sacrifice I now demand you will make for me. ” 

“Yes,” said Captain Graham mournfully, “anything.” 

‘ ‘ You are here in the country of your enemies, ’ ’ she said, 
with tenderness. ‘ ‘ Were your presence suspected you would 
be taken at once. Your only hope is in instant flight across 
the mountains. Go then at once. Remember, you carry 
my peace of mind with you, and that until I know you are 
safe from pursuit, I will not have an easy moment. ’ ’ 

“And I must leave you— perhaps never to see you again,” 
said Graham in despair. 

“Yes, and you must promise me,” she said, with a sob, 
i ‘ never to return — it is best. ’ ’ 

Graham bowed his head without a word. 

“You have a future,” she continued, after a pause. 

“I have no future,” he cried impetuously, “but in you.” 
“Leave me — in mercy, leave me,” she said piteously. 
“Your marriage was a sacrifice,” he said, “your heart 
was mine. You never loved Ashley Anderson. Do you 
believe in destiny?” with sudden energy. “Stella, you are 
my fate. I believe— I feel it — you will yet be mine !” 
“Robert!” she exclaimed, with a start. 


SHENANDOAH. 


51 


“Yes — else had I died on the field of Bull Run, where 
death at least was associated with honor. Why was I re- 
prieved? To suffer all my life in vain? 1ST o. I’ll not be- 
lieve it. Farewell then, Stella, God bless and protect you. 
You will not forget me. ” 

He advanced, took her hand and pressed it passionately to 
his lips. A vivid flash of lightning illumined the room, 
and a fearful crash of thunder seemed to rend the house 
from roof to cellar. Stella uttered a cry of terror, and 
pointed toward the back of the room. 

Graham turned and recognized the figure of Gideon Sikes 
in the shadow. The fellow, seeing he was observed, slowly 
came forward. 

“Gregson!” said Stella, in surprise, then drawing herself 
up with great hauteur, ‘ ‘ your business here. ’ ’ 

“My business, ma’am,” he said in some confusion, “my 
business!” Then, as if struck with a sudden idea he 
pointed with a triumphant grin at Robert Graham, ‘ ‘ and 
his 1” 


52 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER VII. 

WHO HOLDS THE ACE? 

Mr. Sikes was clearly master of the situation. Whatever 
purpose had brought him to the private apartments of the 
mistress of the house, and it certainly was not an honest 
one, he was in a position to dictate his own terms. 

Captain Graham, however, while fully appreciating the 
embarrassing and dangerous turn his desperate adventure 
had assumed, was not a man who could be intimidated by 
a scoundrel like Gideon Sikes. 

He walked up to the counterfeit Gregson, and looking him 
squarely in the eye, said : 

“You rascal, you are up to your old tricks again. You 
are a thief, and a scoundrel !” 

‘ ‘ Hard words break no bones, ’ ’ said Gideon coolly ; ‘ ‘ what 
are you going to do about it?” 

‘ ‘ The presence of this lady alone prevents me from taking 
you by the throat and throwing you out of the window, ’ ’ 
said the officer fiercely. 

Mr. Sikes scowled ominously. 

“That wouldn’t be an easy job, capt’n,” he said. “I’m 
a rough customer when I’m riled. Now,” he continued 
pointedly, “what’s the use of us two quarreling. I own up 
I made a mistake in coming here — that's my business. You 
dare not expose me without compromising that lady — your 
old sweetheart. You did me a good turn once and I ain’t 
ungrateful, d’ye see. I could have caused your arrest as an 
escaped prisoner any time these two days and it would have 


SHENANDOAH. 


53 


been a feather in my cap. If you’ll take my advice you’ll 
leave the Valley at once — to-night.” 

‘ ‘ And leave you unmolested to carry on your iniquitous 
schemes, ’ ’ said Graham, with forced calmness. 

4 ‘ Schemes !” said Mr. Sikes deliberately. “I’m all right. ’ ’ 

“You are masquerading here under the name of your 
wife’s brother, and ” 

“Why not?” said Sikes, cuttinghim short. “It wouldn’t 
be safe for a fellow who’s been in the penitentiary to go 
under his own name, would it — particularly when he didn’t 
serve his time, eh?” 

“You have some sinister purpose in view, Gideon Sikes,” 
responded the officer, in a low voice. “Otherwise you 
would not have ventured back to the neighborhood of your 
former crime. You are a dangerous rascal, and Colonel 
Anderson must be put on his guard. ’ ’ 

“Would Colonel Anderson like to learn that his wife, 
during his absence, received her former lover into her own 
apartments under the cover of night?” said Mr. Sikes 
maliciously. 

“Scoundrel! cried Graham furiously, “dare you insinu- 
ate ” 

“Hands off, cap’n,” said Sikes coolly, “I can guess the 
object of your visit ; but the colonel is a hot-blooded South- 
erner, and he wouldn’t look at it in the same light. You could 
get out of the fix by immediate flight — as I advised you, 
but could she?” 

Gideon jerked his thumb in the direction of Stella, who 
half sat, half crouched upon a lounge, watching the issue 
between the two men, with bated breath and dilating 
eyes. 

Graham started back with a gesture of despair. The 
point aimed at by the astute rascal struck home. The argu- 
ment was unanswerable. Stella’s honor was involved, and 
there was no course for the captain but to submit without 
reservation. 


54 


SHENANDOAH. 


‘‘Gideon Sikes,” said Graham, recovering his self- 
possession, ‘‘it was an unfortunate circumstance for me 
that I rescued you from the mill-race four years ago. ” 

Mr. Sikes grinned complacently. 

“I see clearly,” continued the captain, “that you have us 
both so completely in your power that to expose you is im- 
possible. But,” he said, with subdued intensity, “beware 
how you use this advantage. Years may intervene, but if 
you live I will hold you accountable with your life. Go !” 

During this intensely dramatic scene the storm had 
swooped down upon the mansion. The wind and rain beat 
in at the open window and against the closed ones. The 
lightning flashed vividly, and the thunder crashed in 
almost one continuous roll. 

As Captain Graham pointed to the secret stairway, tho 
handsome gilt clock on the mantel struck the hour of 
twelve. Mr. Sikes cast a hungry look upon the expensive 
ornaments that flanked the timepiece, and again his tongue 
swept his coarse lips with that curious smack of covetous- 
ness. Without noticing the mistress of the house, he 
turned away and was soon lost in the shadows at the end 
of the room. His retiring figure was followed by a sudden 
gust of wind through the room, as if some phantom Nemesis 
pursued him, then the secret door shut with a snap. 

‘ ‘ Stella, ’ ’ said Robert Graham sadly, ‘ ‘ I can never absolve 
myself of this visit. I was mad, surely, but no remorse 
now can recall the folly of it all. Forgive me if you can ; 
but none the less will it be to me a lifelong regret. ’ * 

“Robert, I cannot in my heart reproach you. It was 
unwise, yes, truly you have said it, ’twas madness for you 
to seek this interview. Should a breath of it reach my 
husband’s ears I shudder to think in what complication 
it would involve me. I am in that man’s power. Yet, I 
fancy I have read his character aright, and self-interest 
will seal his lips. You must go now, Robert. Every in- 
stant you remain here is an age of apprehension to me. ” 


SHENANDOAH. 


55 


* ‘ And I am a villain to prolong your suffering, ’ ’ said 
Captain Graham. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly, 
reverently. “If I am fortunate I will be in the Union lines 
within a week. I will go at once to the front and then ’ ’ 

“And then,” she said sadly, “my fancy will picture you 
in the midst of some dreadful battle, where shot and shell 
are covering the field with the dead and dying, and you — 
oh, heaven — exposed to ” 

“A soldier’s death,” he said calmly. “Perhaps it is 
better so. I feel that life without you, Stella, is but a 
mockery. The hopes I built on our union are scattered, like 
dew before the morning sun. There, don’t weep, the bit- 
terness of our separation is for the moment gone. I can 
now meet the future like a man, and suffer without a 
sign. ’ ’ 

He kissed her hand again, seeming to breathe out his soul 
upon it, then he dropped it and walked away without 
another word. 

“Good heaven,” he exclaimed, on trying the concealed 
door. “It is shut, and the spring is on the other side. 
What am I to do?” 

A flash of lightning lit up the apartment with dazzling 
intensity, and almost instantly a thunderbolt struck the 
corner of the house not far from where Captain Graham 
stood. The wall crumbled like magic, leaving a ragged 
opening even with the floor. Graham, blinded and stunned 
by the shock, staggered from the corner, and the next flash 
saw him pitch forward through the fissure and disappear. 

Stella stood for a moment transfixed, and then with a 
heart-rending scream that echoed through the house, fell to 
the floor insensible. 


56 


/SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

RELATES TO THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF CAPTAIN 
GRAHAM. 

Bad news travels fast. The intelligence that Early had 
been repulsed before Washington, and the latest informa- 
tion to the effect that his army was retreating toward the 
Shenandoah Valley, threw the town of Strasburg and vicin- 
ity into a fever of excitement. 

A large gathering of the neighbors assembled after dark 
at Mrs. Sikes’ “grocery” to canvass the situation, and the 
discussion soon reached a very high pitch. The services 
of the shock-headed youth were in constant requisition, 
but for all that he seemed to be constantly on the alert, as 
though something not yet apparent was in the wind. 

This watchfulness on his part was decidedly unusual for 
one, who, by current assent, was reckoned more than ordi- 
narily stupid. Indeed, it would have attracted the notice 
of the habitues, but that their attention was absorbed in the 
one topic of the hour— the failure of Early’s expedition. 

It was a beautiful night. Myriads of stars- flushed the 
sky with a soft ethereal light. The moon in its first quarter 
hung like a silver crescent against the clear blue back- 
ground, unspotted by a solitary cloud. A light summer 
breeze breathed gently upon the landscape. The trees stood 
motionless along the turnpike like alert sentinels on guard. 
Only the monotonous croak of the frogs broke the sweet 
silence in which nature had wrapped herself. 

Eight o’clock had just sounded from a church tower in the 
town of Strasburg, when a corporal and file of soldiers 


SHENANDOAH. 


- 57 


marched up to Mrs. Sikes’ place. The corporal entered the 
store and summoned the shock-headed youth. After a brief 
parley, one man was left on guard at the door, the rest of 
the soldiers surrounded the building, and the non-commis- 
sioned officer immediately entered the living apartments at 
the back. 

Margaret had passed the day in a state of mental dis- 
quietude. On the evening previous, Captain Graham, in 
spite of her most earnest remonstrance, left the house to 
seek, by some means, an interview with Stella. Mrs. 
Sikes sat up all night awaiting his return. When the sUn 
rose and morning grew apace, the Union officer was still 
absent. 

Margaret, unable to contain her anxiety, went over to the 
Anderson homestead. There she found everything in a 
state of uproar. The house had been struck by a thunder- 
bolt during the night and a part of the second floor of the 
main edifice was in ruins. 

Stella Anderson was a grave source of solicitude to the 
entire household. The crash of the devastating bolt had 
aroused all the inmates from their sleep, and the piercing 
scream that followed had brought a score of frightened 
servants, headed by Miss Anderson, to the apartments of 
their mistress, where Stella was found on the floor, fully 
dressed and unconscious. 

The usual restoratives having been applied, Mrs. Ander- 
son revived, but almost immediately went into an hysterical 
condition, so serious in intensity that the family physician 
was immediately summoned. 

The case presented features that puzzled and alarmed him. 
Everything was done that his skill could suggest, but it 
seemed as if his patient had received such a shock that her 
system was gradually but surely giving away under the 
pressure. With the coming of daylight, however, the con- 
dition of the sufferer took definite shape. Dr. Winslow 
announced that the temporary crisis was past. Stella had 


58 


SHENANDOAH. 


developed brain fever. Whether or not she would recover 
was, of course, a question beyond his ability to answer. 

Margaret was appalled at this new calamity. She loved 
Stella, as we have shown, as a dear, very dear sister— and 
the one firm true, friend to whom she could always go in 
confidence. Her grief was the more poignant since she 
realized that a partial estrangement had occurred between 
them since that fatal evening of her husband’s return. 

Mrs. Sikes was so well known and respected at Colonel 
Anderson’s place, and her feelings toward her former mis- 
tress so well understood and appreciated, that her efforts to 
assist the stricken lady were eagerly and thankfully 
accepted. 

Margaret stayed until noon, and then she felt that she 
must return home, for even if Captain Graham failed to 
show himself, she still had the drummer -boy to look after, 
and she took a motherly interest in the little fellow’s 
welfare. 

As she passed the stables, Margaret came face to face 
with her husband, whose engagement on the estate was 
another source of worry to her. He had never before evinced 
an inclination for work, and this sudden change of disposi- 
tion was, to her mind, suggestive of some deep purpose he 
had in view. 

“Gideon!” exclaimed Margaret, pausing. 

“Take care, you fool!” said Mr. Sikes, with a half- 
glance over his shoulder, “my name’s Samuel Gregson, 
and ” 

He paused abruptly and began whistling ‘ ‘ Dixie, ’ ’ at the 
same time resuming the polishing of a buckle he held in 
his hand. Mr. Hendricks, the overseer, had just stepped 
into view, and was glancing in their direction. 

“Have you seen anything of Captain Graham since last 
night?” said Margaret, in a low voice. 

Mr. Sikes looked curiously at his wife. 

“How should I?” he replied roughly. 


SHENANDOAH. 


59 


“I thought — ” she began timidly. 

“Just like you women always going off at random. 
What’s the matter with the cap’n?” 

“He went out about nine o’clock in the evening, and 
hadn’t returned when I left home this morning. I’m 
anxious about him. ’ ’ 

“Humph !’’ 

Mr. Sikes didn’t appear to consider the captain’s uncer- 
tain movements a matter worthy of his consideration. 
Margaret, thus rebuffed, and seeing that her husband was 
either unable or not disposed to give her any satisfaction, 
continued on her way. 

“Good-afternoon, Mrs. Sikes,” said the manager. 

‘ ‘ Good-afternoon, Mr. Hendricks. ’ ’ 

“How did you leave matters at the house?” 

“Not very encouraging, I fear, sir.” 

“Mrs. Anderson received a great shock, I guess,” said 
Mr. Hendricks politely. 

“Very great indeed, sir,” said Margaret. 

‘ ‘ I had the debris cleared away this morning, and what do 
you suppose we found under it?” 

“I’m sure I couldn’t guess,” said the good woman. 

“A man’s hat. ” 

“Oh!” she said, somewhat puzzled, and thinking the 
overseer was trying to quiz her. ‘ ‘ Is there anything singu- 
lar in that fact?” 

“Yes, ma’am; because it was an uncommon headpiece 
to find on these premises. A soft brownish felt hat such as 
is worn usually by army officers. ’ ’ 

Margaret gave a start. 

‘ ‘ Besides there was another curious feature to it. A sealed 
note addiessed to Mrs. Anderson was found sticking in the 
lining. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Sikes felt a sinking at the heart, for she remembered 
that Captain Graham, a short time before his departure the 
night before, had asked for pen, ink and paper. If she 


60 


SHENANDOAH. 


could only see that hat she was sure she would recognize it 
if it was Captain Graham’s. 

“You have the— the ’’ 

“Eh?” said Mr. Hendricks. 

“The hat,’’ she said faintly. 

“Oh, yes,” said the overseer pleasantly. “It’s in the 
colonel’s library. He’ll be back this afternoon. I dare say 
the note will give him a clue to the enigma. Good-day, 
Mrs. Sikes.” 

Poor Margaret felt that she had only added to the mystery 
of the captain’s disappearance, and she returned home op- 
pressed by many vague forebodings. 

Jimmy Montgomery was amusing himself with a patent 
fiy-killing apparatus which his ingenuity had evolved from 
part of an old suspender, when Margaret took him up his 
dinner. 

“Wot’s de matter wid de cap, missus?” he asked, with 
some show of uneasiness. 

Mrs. Sikes gave him an evasive answer. 

“He ain’t took, is he?” said the lad, looking at her very 
hard. 

“Ueaven forbid, my boy,” she said. 

‘ ‘ Honor bright, now, ’ ’ he persisted. ‘ ‘ Hope yous may 
die if yer ain’t tellin’ de truth. ” 

Margaret hastened to quiet his apprehensions as best she 
could, and then left him to dispatch his meal. 

Supper time came and Jimmy renewed his cross-examina- 
tion, winding up with the avowed resolve of going out and 
trying to hunt the captain up. 

4 ‘ Why, where would you go, my boy, ’ ’ said Margaret. 

“I dunno— I’d try ter find him somehow,” said Jimmy, 
nodding his head with an air of determination. “I’ll bet 
dat ere gal’s at de bottom of it. ” 

“What do you mean, Jimmy?” she said. 

“Dat’s all right. I ain’t cut me eye teeth fur nothin’. 
De cap teld me all about it, ’ ’ said the boy, sagaciously. 


SHENANDOAH, 


61 


However, Margaret persuaded the lad that nothing hut 
trouble was likely to accrue to him if he ventured from his 
shelter. That Captain Graham was likely to return as soon 
as it grew dark, and if he found Jimmy out, would surely 
go in search of him, and thereby add to their mutual peril. 

Mrs. Sikes got supper ready as usual for the shock-headed 
youth and herself. Afterward she cleaned up the place, and 
was just thinking whether or not she had better venture 
over to the homestead to see how Stella was, when the sit- 
ting-room door was flung open suddenly and the rebel cor- 
poral entered the room. 

“Mrs. Sikes, I think?” said the soldier abruptly. 

“Yes,” said Margaret, her heart sinking with apprehen- 
sion. 

“Sorry, ma’am, to intrude. Have orders to search the 
house. ’ ’ 

“Search my house?” she gasped. 

“Yes, ma’am. For a man understood to be concealed on 
the premises. Deserter, I reckon. ’ ’ 

“Oh!” she said. 

“These are the back stairs, ain’t they, ma’am?” 

“Yes,” she said faintly, thinking of poor little Jimmy. 

The soldier ascended at once, like a man who seemed to 
know his way. He went directly to the door leading into 
the unused second floor. Here he paused to light the lantern 
he carried. Then he opened the door and entered. 

He held up the light, but nothing met his gaze but empty 
boxes and musty barrels. No sign of a man certainly. But 
a soldier sent on such a duty is always thorough. So he 
marched about, examining everything in the room carefully, 
casting his eyes occasionally toward the door, lest the object 
of his search should try to elude him. 

Satisfied that no one was on this floor, he ascended to the 
next, and flashed his lantern into each of the four unoccu- 
pied chambers in turn, without, however, leaving the hall- 
way. As there was nothing but dust and cobwebs in these 
rooms, he was soon convinced of their emptiness. 


62 


SHENANDOAH. 


Margaret, standing at the foot of the back stairs in 
momentary expectation of seeing Jimmy dragged forth by 
the soldier, was surprised to see the non-commissioned offi- 
cer appear bootless from his quest. 

“Not here,” said the soldier briefly, addressing Mrs. 
Sikes, ‘ ‘ some mistake, I reckon. ’ ’ 

Margaret drew a long breath as the man marched out of 
the house. 

Perhaps another person was surprised at the non-result 
obtained. That was the shock-headed youth, whose face be- 
came the picture of blank amazement. 

The corporal and his file of soldiers marched off toward 
Strasburg, in the same manner they had come, while a pair 
of exceedingly bright eyes watched their departure through 
the interstices of the mouldy shutters in the front windows 
of the disused second door of the old building. 

“He, he!” chuckled Jimmy, from his post of observation, 
“wot a lot er duffers yous are eny way. It ’ud take more 
dan dose stuffs ter catch dis weasel asleep. Der next time 
yous come after dis chicken, yous had better bring yer 
op’rer glasses. ” 


SHENANDOAH. 


63 


CHAPTER IX. 

A SHORT CHAPTER CHIEFLY TREATING OF EVENTS THAT LED 
TO THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY BECOMING THE 
THEATER OF A LURID DRAMA. 

For more than a week the condition of affairs at the An- 
derson homestead remained the same. The servants went 
about their duties after an awed fashion. The angel of 
death seemed to be settling down upon the household, and 
the hush that forebodes so calamitous an event tinged every- 
thing with gloom. 

The colonel, since his ' ^turn on the afternoon following 
his wife’s prostration, looked a changed man. He moved 
about with a stern and cloudy brow. Every one remarked 
the transformation. The less observant readily ascribed this 
singular deportment to grief occasioned by his wife’s 
serious condition ; but the more astute were constrained to 
believe that there was something strangely at variance with 
the usual tokens of affliction in the old soldier’s manner. 
His very calmness seemed terribly significant. It was like 
nothing so much as the treacherous calm which precedes 
one of those awful tropical hurricanes. 

Margaret Sikes, too, it was remarked, was oppressed with 
a morbid sense of unrest. She spent a large part of her 
time at Mrs. Anderson’s bedside. She was unremitting in 
her solicitous care for the sufferer ; yet behind her womanly 
sympathy and avowed distress lurked an indefinable shadow, 
impalpable to the understanding yet obvious to the senses. 

The only person on the estate who appeared to be unaffected 
by the funereal aspect of the place was the bogus Samuel 


64 


SHENANDOAH. 


Gregson. Though his duties were understood to be strictly 
confined to the stables, he was continually bobbing up about 
the mansion, and, when reprimanded by the overseer, was 
never in want of a plausible excuse to cover his maneuvers. 

Ten days after Stella was stricken down the crisis in her 
condition was reached, and she began to mend. When the 
glad news was imparted to the colonel by his sister, he re- 
ceived the information coldly. May was thunderstruck. 
Woman-like she seized upon the first solution that his strange 
behavior suggested— that the shock occasioned by Stella’s 
illness had affected his brain. 

To Margaret she imparted her apprehension ; but poor 
Mrs. Sikes had little to say. Already she had put a mean- 
ing to Colonel Anderson’s subtile actions. The letter and 
hat, that the colonel must have examined soon after his re- 
turn that afternoon, was evidence enough for her to feel that 
she, alone of all the household, possessed the key to the sit- 
uation. She no longer doubted that the letter in question 
bore the name of Robert Graham. That the colonel’s jeal- 
ousy and anger were now arrayed against his innocent 
suffering wife and his old rival. How it was all to end 
Margaret dared not think. She felt that a more terrible 
misfortune than even death itself was threatening the house. 
And through it all ran the mystery of Captain Graham’s 
disappearance. Where was he? Certainly he had not con- 
tinued his flight north — for Margaret knew that he would 
never desert the boy Jim. Then what had become of him? 
For the slightest clue the poor woman racked her brain in 
vain. 

Outside of the Anderson homestead these last days of July 
were pregnant with momentous events that were soon to 
bathe the Valley of the Shenandoah in blood and involve its 
smiling fields in partial ruin. 

When Early withdrew from before Washington, he was 
immediately pursued by General Wright, but with caution, 
as the Union forces were much inferior to the enemy. The 






































































































































































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SHENANDOAH. 


65 


Confederate army limited awhile at Leesburg and then con- 
tinued its retreat, crossing the Shenandoah River at Snick- 
er’s Ferry, and taking position around Berryville. Breck- 
inridge, who had charge of the fords, was attacked by the 
Union advance, but with aid from Early, suceeded in driv- 
ing the latter back. On the following night the rebel 
army retired through Berryville, Millwood and White Post, 
then westward to Newtown and Middletown, thence along 
the Valley pike southward toward Strasburg, where on July 
22d the retreat came to an end. 

The first important engagement in the Valley took place 
at Kernstown, less than twenty miles from Strasburg, on the 
morning of the 23d. This place was occupied by a limited 
Union force under Generals Crook and Averill. Early ad- 
vanced his whole army along the Valley pike, and having 
driven in the Federal skirmishers, attacked Crook’s left flank, 
doubling it and throwing it into confusion. The Union 
troops were soon forced into a rapid retreat, striving for 
Winchester and beyond. 

In a violent rain storm, which came up the day after his 
Kernstown victory, Early followed Crook to Bunker Hill, 
twelve miles from Winchester. The latter retreated again 
along the Williamsport pike and camped on the Potomac ; 
the next morning he crossed the river into Maryland. 

Finding himself once more in undisputed possession of 
the Valley, Early proceeded to Martinsburg, and again 
destroyed the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad which had been 
repaired. He then sent two cavalry brigades on another 
dash into Union territory, and the panic which had marked 
Early’s previous invasion broke out afresh in Pennsylvania. 

When Grant perceived that Early’s success would probably 
cause him to be retained in the Valley as a permanent 
menace to the North, he resolved to accumulate against him 
an overwhelming force. With two infantry corps and a 
third of his cavalry now on the Potomac, Grant determined 
that they must do something — either crush Early, or else so 


(56 


SHENANDOAH . 


drive him back as to relieve the Richmond campaign of a 
constant hindrance. Sheridan was put in command of all 
the troops in the field within the division, and on August 
7th crossed the Potomac and entered his new field, the 
Shenandoah Valley. 

On the morning of the 10th, Sheridan marched out from 
Halltown for Winchester ; but Early, observing the maneu- 
ver, and divining its aim, marched his troops that day 
south from Bunker Hill, and at night took up a position 
covering Winchester. Though his formation was line of 
battle, the Confederate general did not wish to fight there. 
While his opponent had received large reinforcements, his 
own, which Lee, accepting Grant’s challenge to make the 
Shenandoah Valley a main scene of military operations, had 
already dispatched, were still on the road, and were to join 
him by way of Culpepper. His proper move, therefore, 
was to retreat to the strong defenses in the rear of Strasburg, 
and there effect this junction. Accordingly, while Sheri- 
dan, the morning of the 11th, was moving out to carry the 
fords of the. Opequan, Early was shifting his army above 
Winchester, toward Cedar Creek and Strasburg. The next 
day the rebel general crossed Cedar Creek and occupied 
Hupp’s Hill. Toward evening he withdrew to the stronger 
position of Fisher’s Hill, two miles south of Strasburg, and 
there intrenched himself. He also established a signal sta- 
tion on the westerly summit of Three Top, the westernmost 
of the triple parallel ridges of the Massanutten Mountains. 

Such was the condition of affairs in the neighborhood of 
Strasburg on the sunny afternoon of August 13th, when 
Stella Andeson, ' scarcely more than a ghost of her former 
self, sat at the window of her boudoir, and, for the first 
time since that memorable night, looked out listlessly upon 
the Shenandoah Valley. 


SHENANDOAH. 


67 


CHAPTER X. 

SHOWS THAT WHEN A MAN IS RESOLVED UPON AN UNHALLOWED 
PROJECT THE DEVIL IS EVER READY TO ASSIST HIM. 

A month had now elapsed since Captain Graham vanished 
so unaccountably from the scene, and to Margaret his dis- 
appearance was as much a mystery as ever. Not a day 
passed that she did not spend a portion of her time at the 
Anderson homestead. Stella never referred to Robert 
Graham, or to the scene of that evening in Mrs. Sikes’ sit- 
ting-room. The subject was tacitly avoided. Margaret 
showed her contrition in the tender devotion she bestowed 
upon the invalid, and no one would ever have suspected 
that their relationship had been so severely tested. Uncon- 
sciously the bond of sympathy between the two was renewed 
as of old, and day by day grew stronger than ever. 

Little Jimmy Montgomery remained at the “grocery,” 
not under cover, but openly as an assistant and protege of 
Mrs. Sikes’. His presence excited no comment, though it 
roused the jealousy of the shock-headed youth. The lad 
acquired a strong friendship for Margaret, founded upon 
their common interest in the Federal captain. Although 
Jimmy engaged in many expeditionary outings in pursuit 
of a settled purpose to find some trace of his friend, the 
officer, and exercised no little detective ingenuity in con- 
nection therewith, not the faintest result came of it all. 
The boy was growing discouraged. The natural vivacity 
that first characterized him yielded by degrees to a sor- 
rowful taciturnity that grievously impressed his mistress. 

The retirement of Early’s forces before Sheridan’s advance 


68 


SHENANDOAH. 


naturally brought dismay to rebel sympathizers throughout 
the Valley. - This was especially noticeable at Winchester 
and around Strasburg, where the people were mostly for 
secession. The farmers expected nothing but ruin, and 
their forebodings were realized when the Union general, 
warned of the near approach of reinforcements for Early, 
began to withdraw from his advanced position at Cedar 
Creek. Grant’s explicit instructions to Sheridan to take 
all provisions, forage and stock wanted for the use of his 
command, and to destroy such as could not be consumed, 
were carried out to the letter. 

Several of Colonel Anderson’s colored help decamped and 
found shelter within the Union lines ; which did not improve 
Overseer Hendricks’ bitter feelings against the Northern bar- 
barians, as he was pleased to term the Yankees. About thig 
time quite a number of small household articles of value 
were discovered to be missing, and the thefts were fastened 
upon the shoulders of the recreant “niggers.” Samuel 
Gregson was particularly active in establishing this convic- 
tion ; a fact that raised him a peg or two in Mr. Hendricks’ 
good graces, for the manager was clearly prejudiced in the 
matter. 

It was the 17th of August that Sheridan abandoned his 
camp before Strasburg, and as soon thereafter as possible 
Early moved out of his position in the rear of the town and 
started in pursuit along the Valley pike. 

The colonel, who had never quitted the grounds during the 
Federal occupation of the neighborhood, watched the rebel 
troops grimly as they passed along the road in heavy march- 
ing order. His library windows gave him an unobstructed 
view of the Valley for miles. 

The re-establishment of his wife’s health, instead of ban- 
ishing the gloom from his features, seemed to have gradually 
hardened the lines that age had already furrowed upon his 
countenance. His sphinx-like face betrayed no evidence of 
the workings of the intricate mechanism behind, beyond 
the general indications of an unusual mental disturbance. 


SHENANDOAH. 


69 


His sister, Miss Anderson, naturally much exercised over 
the matter, was clearly at fault. Like most volatile women, 
when brought to face a metaphysical problem, she handled 
the subject gingerly, feeling convinced that the matter was 
quite beyond her comprehension. 

After viewing the Confederate line of march for some 
time, the colonel turned to his desk and sat down. His hand 
wandered to a certain pigeon-hole and he took therefrom a 
letter, which he slowly opened with the air of a man thor- 
oughly familiar with its contents. He leaned his iron-gray 
head upon his hand, still holding the open note with the 
other. He appeared to be weighing the words as his eye 
took them in with calm deliberation. The letter ran thus : 

‘ ‘ Stella : I leave here to-morrow, to cross the mountains 
and rejoin the Union army. How different are my feelings 
now to what they were two nights since. Where are the 
hopes that buoyed me up through all those weary months 
in the Richmond prison-pen? Where the ambitions of a life 
devoted to you? Gone. The dead ashes of the past slip 
through my fingers, but the memory of it all remains. 
Were it not for the lad who fled with me from Libby, and 
whose safety I hold myself responsible for, I should care 
little were I recaptured. I feel like a man without a coun- 
try, standing aloof,- as it were, from a world that no longer 
has attractions for me. All I cared for centered in you, 
and that dream is past. By the memory of our love, Stella, 
I entreat you to see , me once more. To-night at eleven I 
will be waiting beneath the great oak tree that faces your 
window. You will come — the absence of your husband fur- 
nishes the opportunity — yes, Stella, I know you will come — 
it is a last adieu ! Robert Graham. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ All is now explained, ’ T muttered the old soldier. ‘ ‘ Her 
tears ! her constraint ! her coldness ! all, all ! She must have 
met him that night at Mrs. Sikes’ house. It is easy to un- 
derstand how such a meeting would bring about the condi- 
tion that so alarmed me, and which her excuses but thinly 
veiled ; though I, old fool that I am, suspected nothing. 
After all these years that man, whose death was considered 


SHENANDOAH 


70 

an assured fact, turns up alive, and now stands in my path 
a barrier between me and the love that at length I had 
fondly persuaded myself was mine at last. My wife— yes, 
but in name only. My pride can never content itself with 
the empty casket. She loves that man ! I feel it— I know 
it. The dead ashes of that love needed but a spark to stir 
them into the old glow. Though she may not forget her 
duty and the honor within her keeping, she can never again 
be to me what she was. It is a bitter reflection for an old 
man to face, but the inevitable leaves no alternative. What 
are this man’s disappointed hopes compared with mine? 
He is young, and the world is before him ; while I — have 
nothing to look forward to but the grave. ’ ’ 

The shadows of night crept in at the windows as he sat 
there absorbed in the bitter realization of a shattered pres- 
ent. They gathered about his chair and seemed to hem him 
in with their impalpable shapes. And then other shadows 
gathered in the corners of the room, and mocked him from 
afar, till, emboldened by his silent misery, they came slowly 
forward and filled the room in every part. Still the old 
colonel sat there unconscious that the light had gone out of 
the sky — as it had flickered and gone out of his life. 

Stella had been more than usually restless all day. Mar- 
garet in consequence stayed beyond her usual hour. No 
persuasions could induce Stella to retire as usual. The most 
that she would do was to lie down on the bed in her dress- 
ing-gown. The silence of early evening at length closed her 
eyes in fitful slumber. 

When the clock struck nine she was still asleep, though 
to Margaret’s watchful eyes it looked but a treacherous re- 
pose. Mrs. Sikes felt that she must return home, so calling 
Mrs. Anderson’s maid, who always remained with her mis- 
tress till midnight, when she was relieved by the nurse, she 
put on her things and left the apartments. 

Margaret passed the colonel on the stairs. She paused 
and followed his retreating figure with her eyes. Not since 


SHENANDOAH. 


71 


his wife was stricken down had he visited this part of the 
house before. She saw him enter Stella’s boudoir. What 
did this unusual action portend? Had the colonel yielded at 
last, and was this visit the first step toward a reconcilia- 
tion with his young wife? Or 

Mrs. Sikes hurried away, for she dared not trust herself 
to think of the picture in the reverse. 

The colonel shut the door and beckoned to his wife’s maid. 
“Wheel a table there,” he said, indicating a spot near one 
of the windows. “Place a lamp with those writing mate- 
rials. Now extinguish the light in the globe, I hate a 
glare. That will do. Now you may go downstairs. ’ ’ 

The young woman retired. 

‘ ‘ She is sleeping, ’ ’ said the old officer, looking into his 
wife’s room, “yet she has not yet undressed. Well, what 
does it matter. A few minutes will suffice me. The words, 
the last this foolish old hand will ever pen, must be written 
here, in her room, where the magnetism of her presence en- 
thralled me so often, and where the spiritual presence of 
that love must ever linger. ” 

The colonel’s hand trembled visibly as he drew the writ- 
ing materials toward him. The task he had set himself to 
do was not to be easily performed. The mental conflict 
through which he had passed in the library, and out of 
which he had evolved the sacrifice his mind was deter- 
mined upon, now became apparent in the agitation that 
swayed his being— a condition entirely new to a man of 
Colonel Anderson’s strong personality. 

While he sat there in the silence of the night, trying by a 
powerful effort to control his emotions, a figure appeared at 
the door of his wife’s bedroom, and Stella, wearing a white 
cashmere dressing-gowm, which fell in long soft folds to her 
feet, entered her boudoir with a quick, noiseless tread. Her 
eyes were fixed and open, her face very pale, and her golden 
hair banded back. 

She glided to the window, through which, on that fateful 


72 


SHENANDOAH. 


night, she had looked over the landscape toward Mrs. Sikes’ 
house, where her heart mutely sought her old sweetheart’s in 
spiritual communion. She drew back the curtains, just as 
she had done that night. 

A low cry from her lips startled the colonel, who had been 
unaware of her presence, and he sprang to his feet with in- 
tense surprise. 

‘ ‘ The lightning ! * what a flash ! It almost blinded me ! 
And now the thunder — listen !” 

She leaned forward in the calm rays of the moon that 
bathed her person from head to foot. 

The colonel, after a moment of indecision, walked over 
and laid his hand gently on her arm. No movement on 
her part evinced knowledge of the contact. He looked into 
her face intently, and then drew back. 

“She sleeps!” he said, “she is walking in her sleep.” 

Stella allowed the curtain to fall, and turning from the 
window she paused an instant at the center-table, where 
she fumbled among the various trinkets, and then walked 
slowly back into her bedroom. 

The colonel followed her with his eyes, in which irradi- 
ated an inexpressible tenderness, and then, with a deep sigh, 
he placed his hand upon the table and remained apparently 
lost in thought. 

“It is years since she was troubled with this habit,” 
mused the old officer, ’ ’ the recent shock to her system has 
brought it on again. In one of these fits she nearly lost her 
life by falling over the bluff into a deep pool on her father’s 
grounds. She was saved by Kobert Graham, and that was 
the beginning of their acquaintance and — love. ’ ’ 

He was aroused by the re -entrance of Stella. Her manner 
seemed more agitated than before. She stood halfway be- 
tween the door of her chamber and the center-table, the 
same position assumed by her that night when confronted 
by the captain. Her attitude now was that of one listening 
intently. 


SHENANDOAH. 


73 


“You must remain here no longer, ” the colonel heard her 
say. “Your presence compromises me. Thank heaven, my 
husband is absent. Promise me, Robert, you will never — 
never return . ’ ’ 

Her manner changed suddenly from earnest appeal to un- 
utterable sadness. 

“Good God!” exclaimed the colonel, in a low voice, “her 
brain is wandering! she is mad!” 

“You say you love me,” continued Stella, addressing a 
presence visible only to her inward soul. “I believe it — I 
feel you do — but you will go — at once. You should have 
resisted the temptation that urged you to come here — to my 
apartments. However pure your motive, my husband would 
never so construe it. ’ ’ 

“It is I who must be mad or dreaming ! Yes, this is some 
hideous dream!” exclaimed the colonel. “I will awake 
her. Stella !” he said aloud, but in a stifled tone. 

At the sound of his voice Stella turned slightly, as if lis- 
tening. A shudder as of extreme terror seemed to thrill her 
from head to foot, and she clasped her hands convulsively 
to her breast. 

“It is my husband’s voice ! Hush, he would kill me if he 
found you here ! Hush !” 

She motioned as if entreating silence. 

“Great heaven!” cried the colonel, recoiling. 

“It was the wind,” continued Stella, with a sigh of 
relief. “This terrible night has filled me with fancies. 
Oh, to fear thus is worse than death !” 

“This is madness” exclaimed the colonel, in passionate 
gesture but subdued voice. ‘ ‘ He dared to come here, then — 
in this room !” 

“Farewell ! farewell ! Feel how my hand trembles ! And 
but for the noise this storm makes, you would hear how my 
heart beats. Go — it is past midnight. Oh!” she suddenly 
exclaimed, starting back, “Gregson!” 

“Gregson!” said the colonel in surprise, “what can she 
mean by alluding to that man?’ 


74 


SHENANDOAH. 


A long pause ensued, the colonel, now resolved on further 
developments, scarcely daring to move. At last, with an air 
of relief, Stella moved to the sofa. 

“Good-night and— good-by !” she said, with a sad, sweet 
smile. 

The colonel started forward, and in doing so he upset a 
small table which fell with a .crash. 

Stella started with a cry and covered her face with her 
hands. 

“Oh, God, he has been struck by the lightning! He is 
dead! He is dead !” 

She staggered forward and would have fallen, but her hus- 
band caught her in his arms, where she lay quiescent. 

‘ ‘ At last I know all, ’ ’ said the old soldier, now terribly 
calm. ‘ ‘The mystery of the hat and the letter is fully ex- 
plained. By some means that man obtained entrance 
here, and the necessity of delivering that letter was obvi- 
ated. It is well I have learned this in time. An inscrutable 
Providence has intercepted the object of my coming hither. 
Robert Graham is a villain, and I will kill him ! I am old, 
and my hands often tremble now. I am not the man I was 
— yet I will kill him ! Stay — he has doubtless left the neigh- 
borhood, for he has not been seen by any one. No matter — 
I will have his life. But the means ! the means !” 

As he spoke, the air of ‘ ‘ Dixie, ’ ’ softly whistled by some 
one approaching the house, fell upon his ear. 

The colonel looked out at the window. He saw Mr. Sikes, 
slightly under the influence of liquor, coming up the gravel 
path. 

“I seek revenge,” muttered the colonel, as if struck by 
an idea, ‘ ‘ and the very instrument is offered to my hand. ’ * 


SHENANDOAH. 


75 


CHAPTER XI. 

IN WHICH MR. SIKES PROVES HE IS A WORTHY PUPIL OF A 
VERY BAD MASTER. 

Colonel Anderson carried his wife into her room and 
placed her on the bed. Then he summoned his sister and 
Stella’s maid. After that he retired to his library. A 
cocked revolver lay conspicuously on the desk. The colonel 
took it up and regarded it a moment with a bitter smile. 
Then he laid it upon a small mahogany table at his elbow. 

He reached for the bell-cord and pulled it. In a few 
moments an old colored man appeared deferentially at the 
door of the Jibrary. 

‘ ‘ I wish to see Gregson at once, ’ ’ said the colonel, ‘ ‘ send 
for him ; he will probably be found at the stables. ” 

‘ ‘ Berry well, sah. ’ ’ 

The door closed and the colonel sat down. He cook a 
paper from one of the pigeon-holes and carefully consulted 
the contents. After that he waited. 

Perhaps ten minutes had elapsed when the door of the 
library opened and admitted Gideon Sikes. The man stood 
near the door in an uncertain attitude, as though surprised 
at having been summoned before the master of the house at 
this untimely hour. 

“Come nearer,” said the colonel, “nearer still.” 

Mr. Sikes seemed ill at ease, though underneath it all his 
natural bravado showed in intermittent flashes. 

“You have been drinking, I think,” said the colonel. 

“Only a drop,” said the man, a bit defiantly. 


76 


SHENANDOAH. 


“Yon have been in my employ four weeks,” continued 
the master of the house. 

Mr. Sikes nodded. 

“Your name is ” 

“Gregson,” said Gideon quickly, “Samuel Gregson. 
I’m ” 

“Your name is Gideon Sikes,” said the colonel, in a 
hard, stern voice. “Nearly four years ago you were arrested 
for a robbery that occurred in this house. You were sent 
to the penitentiary, from which it appears you escaped and 
went into the army. You deserted from your regiment and 
came here. ’ ’ 

“My wife has sold me, eh?” exclaimed Mr. Sikes, his 
manner changing from partial obsequiousness to that of the 
keen, alert and dangerous rascal he was. 

“No one has sold you. Your own folly awakened suspi- 
cion, and suspicion created inquiry. Various articles have 
been taken from this house. My overseer has charged 
these thefts to the negroes who deserted this place. I know 
better, for I have watched you. This paper contains in- 
formation from your colonel. Your own regiment has been 
in this neighborhood two days, being a part of the troops 
under General Anderson, sent from Richmond to reinforce 
General Early. To-morrow, unless I step between you and 
the military authorities, you will be in jail, Mr. Sikes.” 

Gideon, with all his evil faculties aroused, looked at 
Colonel Anderson in silence. Suddenly he advanced a few 
steps as if having formed a resolution. 

“All right, colonel, I’m the man — I’m Gideon Sikes, sure 
enough ; but, ” looking stealthily around him and then full 
in the colonel’s face, “it wasn’t to give me up that you’ve 
picked out such a time as this to tell me of it. ” 

“Your liberty is in my hands ” 

“Call it life, colonel; for I couldn’t stand another turn 
in the penitentiary, ’ ’ said Mr. Sikes in a sharp, quick 
tone, 


SHENANDOAH. 


77 


“Your life then — what price, now, would you pay to 
redeem it?” 

“Price !” 

“What would you do?” 

Mr. Sikes looked the colonel steadily in the eye for a full 
minute, then he said deliberately : 

“Anything !” 

“Suppose,” said the master of the house, rising, and com- 
ing closer to Gideon, and lowering his voice, “that in place - 
of delivering you over to justice, I furnished you with the 
means of escape — what would you say to such a proposition ?’ ’ 

“The first thing I’d say,” said Gideon, with a grin that 
showed his teeth unpleasantly, ‘'would be ‘Gid, old boy, 
you’re in luck!’ and the next thing, ‘what’s your little 
game?’ It must be high play for such a stake. ” 

“Whatever that work may be, would you do it?” 

The colonel spoke in a low, concentrated voice, and fixed 
his gleaming eyes nervously on the other’s face. 

“That depends,” said Mr. Sikes, assuming an easy pose, 
and with increasing effrontery of manner. “Before closing 
a bargain it’s necessary to know of what it consists. ” 

“Suppose, ’’ said the colonel, in a whisper, “it’s of the 
gravest character. ’ ’ 

“Something like what old Bill Poole was taken up for, 
and ” 

Here Mr. Sikes gave his neck a suggestive twist and made 
an upward movement with one hand. 

“Yes,” said the colonel, after a slight pause, and without 
looking at Gideon. 

“I guessed as much,” said Mr. Sikes coolly. 

“Are you strong?” said the colonel nervously. 

“I’m no chicken,” replied the rascal, stretching his 
arm. 

The old officer grasped it, and with a suden burst of fury, 
said : 

“Kill him , and half I own shall be yours !” 


78 


SHENANDOAH. 


'‘Him!” exclaimed Mr. Sikes, in amazement. “But 

who?” 

“Captain Robert Graham!” 

Gideon gave a low whistle and started back. 

“Are you afraid?” 

‘ ‘ Phew ! I see it all now, ’ ’ muttered Mr. Sikes, recov- 
ering himself. 

“I have reason to believe— ’’ said the colonel in a choked 
voice. 

“That the captain was in this house— in your wife’s 
boudoor, ’ ’ said Sikes, with a laugh. 

“Rascstl, you dare ” 

The colonel grasped him by the throat. Sikes, with a 
momentary fierceness shook off the old man’s grasp and 
seized his wrist with a grip of iron. 

“You asked if I was strong just now. Do that again and 
I’ll give you a proof of it,” he said significantly. 

‘ ‘ I was wrong, ’ ’ said the colonel. “It is not upon such as 
you my revenge must fall. ’ ’ 

“Well, about Cap’n Graham,” said Mr. Sikes, with a 
curious look ; “I s’pose you know where to find him?” 

“In all probability Captain Graham has reached the 
Union lines long before this. You must go to Washington. 
I will give you a letter to a friend— a Southern sympa- 
thizer— who will make it his business to find out through 
the War Department how the man can be reached. Then I 
leave it to your own ingenuity to find Graham and — kill 
him. ” 

“I see— it’s murder made easy,” said Mr. Sikes, with a 
laugh. 

‘ ‘ This ruffian makes me tremble, ’ ’ thought the colonel, as 
he drew back. 

“Well, colonel,” said Gideon nonchalantly, “this looks 
like an expensive contract. It may be weeks before I can 
overtake your man, what are you going to start me with?” 

‘ ‘ I will give you one hundred dollars, with an order paya- 


SHENANDOAH. 


79 


ble at Washington for fonr hundred more. When you bring 
me positive proof that my wishes have been carried out, 
I will pay you the sum of five thousand dollars. ’ ’ 

“I think I’d rather have the five hundred now, ” said Mr. 
Sikes blandly. 

4 ‘Do you doubt my honor, fellow?” said the colonel 
haughtily. 

“In such exceedingly delicate matters I doubt every- 
body, ’ ’ responded the astute rascal. 

“You shall have the money ; I have plenty in my bureau, ” 
said the colonel, moving toward a small room off the library. 

“No Confederate shinplasters, colonel,” exclaimed Gid- 
eon, with avaricious quickness. “No greenbacks, either; 
but gold, hard and clinking. ’ ’ 

“You shall have it,” said the old officer, with feverish 
agitation. ‘ ‘ I have more than the sum you require at hand. ’ ’ 

The colonel took the lamp from his desk and entered the 
adjoining room, where he kept all his valuable papers, ac- 
count books and current cash. 

“So,” muttered Mr. Sikes, “he has plenty in the bureau, 
has he ? What a great thing it is to have a pile of money — 
a heap of glittering yellow eagles. It makes one’s mouth 
water to think of it. ’ ’ 

He moved slowly toward the door of the colonel’s strong 
room and looked in cautiously. 

“Ha ! he’s opening a drawer. Why it’s full of gold. ” 

Gideon’s fingers twitched eagerly. He sucked in his 
breath, and again his tongue swept his parched lips. 

“He’s counting it. Ah ! that’s the music I like. ” 

Mr. Sikes stood with dilated eyes as if fascinated at what 
he saw. The light from the lamp fell upon his face and 
figure. He looked the picture of hesitation and avarice. 

“I never saw so many yellow boys in my life — they’re 
double eagles, too. ’ ’ 

He glanced furtively around him, and then crept nearer 
and nearer to the door. 


80 


SHENANDOAH. 


“No one saw me come in; no one need see me go out. 
I’ve a fair start before me, and tlie cap’n can shift for him- 
self. ” 

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the 
back of his hand in a hurried, nervous way. “He’s shut- 
ting the drawer after taking out a handful. Only a miser- 
able handful. That’s like his meanness. ” 

He plunged his hand into his trousers’ pocket and drew 
out a large claspknife, which he opened slowly behind his 
back, with a click. 

“Curse it! It’s more powerful than me! I can’t stand 
it!” 

With a wild gesture, and half covering his eyes with his 
raised arm, he sprang, with a catlike leap, into the room 
where the colonel stood, back toward the door. 

The old man was quite at his mercy, and Mr. Sikes, 
transformed from the cool scoundrel he usually was into a 
perfect devil, blinded by the greed of gold, was in no humor 
to show any. In a twinkling he had the colonel by the 
throat with one hand, and forced him down across the arm- 
chair standing near the wall. 

“Help !” cried the master of the house, faintly, struggling 
ineffectively with his powerful assailant. 

“Now,” hissed Grideon savagely. “I have you where I 
want you! You’d plan a murder, would you, and against 
the cap’n, too ! I ain’t forgotten what I owe you for my 
conviction, three years ago ! I swore to square the account, 
and I’ll do it now— curse you !” 

He raised the knife and drove it squarely into the colonel’s 
breast. With a groan and a convulsive quiver, the old offi- 
cer fell back and lay quite still. 

Mr. Sikes released his grasp on his victim’s throat and 
stared at his handiwork for a moment in silence. Then 
like a flash his fury melted away, and a great sense of hor- 
ror and fear came upon him. 

“Dead!” he exclaimed hoarsely. 


SHENANDOAH. 


SI 


A drop of blood from the knife fell upon liis hand, and he 
started as though stung by some venomous reptile. He 
hastily rubbed it off on the old man’s clothes. Slowly he 
straightened up, and approaching his hand to the lamp, 
turned the flame low. 

Then he crept to the door and looked into the gloom of 
the library with a startled, hurried glance. 

‘ ‘ I thought I heard some one moving around in here. No — 
it was only my fancy. Now, the gold ! the gold !” 

He returned to the bureau. 

“Ugh ! I can’t stand the sight of his blood! What’s come 
over me? I’m all of a tremble !” 

A military cloak hung on a convenient peg. Gideon tore 
it loose and threw it over the motionless form of the colo- 
nel. Then he tried to open the drawer, after transferring 
the loose gold on the top of the bureau to his pocket. 

“Tight, and he has the key in his pocket. ” 

Mr. Sikes hesitated as though loath to touch the body. 
Finally the greed of avarice overcame his scruples and he 
raised one end of the cloak. At that instant his quick ear 
detected the sound of the opening of the door connecting the 
library with the hall. He grasped the blood-stained knife 
and bending low crept to the door. 

“My husband not here !” he heard a voice he knew to be 
Stella Anderson’s exclaim. “Oh! there’s a light in his ' 
private room. I feel I must see him to-night — must speak 
to him, for I can bear this suspense no longer.” 

“Curse her, she’s coming this way. I’m caught like a 
rat in a trap. I must make a dash for it. ’ ’ 

As Mr. Sikes appeared at the doorway in a crouching 
attitude, like some wild animal in the act of springing on 
its prey, the red glow shining through the opening revealed 
his figure indistinctly to Stella’s eyes. 

She started with an exclamation of surprise. 

“A man in his room ! What can.it mean?” 

Mr. Sikes sprang forward, but tripped in the flowing 
chenille curtain. He extended his hands to save himself. 


82 


SHENANDOAH. 


“The knife ! I’ve dropped the knife !” he exclaimed, in a 
hoarse, changed voice. 

Stella uttered a low cry of horror. In her already weak 
state the shock was more than her nerves could bear, and she 
sank upon the carpet in a dead faint. 

Gideon, after an ineffectual attempt to find the knife, was 
startled by the sound of some one on the gravel walk with- 
out. He groped his way to one of the large French win- 
dows, unfastened the latch, and then paused in a listening 
attitude. Unconsciously he stretched out one hand till it 
rested upon the cocked revolver the colonel had placed upon 
the little table by his desk. With a sudden start the guilty 
wretch drew back his hand ; but in that movement the 
mischief was done, for his forefinger had entangled itself 
with the hair trigger. 

There was a sudden flash, a blinding report and that cor- 
ner of the room thickened with smoke. 

“Hell’s fury!” exclaimed Mr. Sikes, “the house will be 
alarmed !” 

He threw open the glass window, but started back on see- 
ing a man running up to the mansion from the carriage 
drive. 

“The cap’n, by all that’s evil!” said Gideon, with an 
exclamation of surprise, as he recognized the intruder in 
the full sweep of the moonlight. 

It was Robert Graham, indeed ; but horribly gaunt and 
thin. A veritable walking specter of even the poor used-up 
captain of four weeks ago. His head was bound up with 
a blood-stained rag, and there were dark, suggestive patche s 
on his shirt and trousers. 

‘ ‘ The shot came from this part of the house, ’ ’ said Gra- 
ham, in a weak voice, as he entered at the open window, 
within a foot of w T here Mr. Sikes crouched ; ‘ ‘ what can it 
mean? There’s smoke here, yet I can see no one. Some- 
thing is wrong surely. ’ ’ 

The center-table hid Stella’s unconscious form from his 
view. 


SHENANDOAH. 


83 


‘ * The people in the house are aroused, ’ ’ he continued. 
“They are coming here. What’s this?” 

Graham picked up Gideon’s knife. 

“A knife! There’s blood on it, too! What mystery is 
behind all this?” 

At that moment confused voices and hurried footsteps 
approached the library. 

“My only chance,” muttered Mr. Sikes, creeping on his 
hands and knees across the sill of the window, which was 
on the level of the floor. 

As he secured his retreat the library door was burst open, 
and Mr. Hendricks, followed by half a dozen servants, in 
the rear of whom was Miss Anderson, entered. 

“Halloo!” exclaimed the overseer as his eyes rested on 
Graham. “Who are you, and what are you doing in this 
house?” 

“This is no time for explanations,” said the Union offi- 
cer, in hollow tones; “a shot was fired in this room a 
moment ago. I am afraid something serious has occurred. 
We had better make an investigation. 

“There’s a light in the colonel’s private room, ” said 
Hendricks, crossing over and entering. “Ha!” he was 
heard to exclaim. “ The colonel assassinated ! Come here, 
some of you, and don’t let that man escape.” 

Miss Anderson, on hearing the awful intelligence, gave 
a shriek and swooned away. The rest, including Graham, 
crowded into the small room off the library. 

‘ ‘ Quick !” exclaimed Hendricks ; “ a glass of brandy ! His 
heart beats ! He is not dead ! See ! his eyes are opening. 
Sam, you rascal, run for Dr. Winslow at once!” 

While the overseer’s directions were being carried out, 
the colonel slowly revived. He rolled his eyes around with 
a dazed look, until they fell upon Robert Graham. A gleam 
of recollection came into the orbs. They fastened them- 
selves upon the face of his old rival as though trying to con- 
nect the two ends of a lost strand. It was a trying moment 


84 


SHENANDOAH. 


for all. By degrees the colonel’s ideas grew clearer, and 
after a sip of brandy he feebly said : 

“There is my assassin ! Robert Graham !” 

The captain started back in horrified surprise. 

“He is mad, surely, ’ ’ he said, in a hushed vloice. 

“That man— stabbed— me !” said the colonel, with evi- 
dent pain and exhaustion. “See, he has the knife— in his 
hand. ’ ’ 

The eyes of all present were turned upon Graham who 
mechanically held the bloody weapon in his fingers. With 
a thrill of horror they drew away and left the captain 
standing alone. 

“It is not true!” said a voice, and Stella Anderson 
pushed her way to her husband’s side. “I saw the 
assassin! Oh, Ashley — husband!” 

She threw herself on her knees beside the wounded man. 

“Who was the man then?” said Hendricks. 

“Don’t ask me— I did not see his face ! But I heard his 
voice. A terrible voice that rings in my ears, and which I 
shall never forget. ’ ’ 

“I tell you,” said the old officer, with a great effort, while 
a fierce gleam of triumph shot from his eyes. ‘ ‘ There stands 
my murderer !” 

He raised his hand and pointed straight at Robert Gra- 
ham, then his eyes dulled and he fell back in the manager’s 
arms, while Stella knelt like a statue of horror, a wild, 
glazed look settling in her eyes. 


SHENANDOAH. 


85 


CHAPTER XII. 

GOING BACKWARD. 

It is necessary that we should now explain the mystery 
of Robert Graham’s disappearance, and how it came about 
that he appeared upon the scene at so unfortunate a moment. 

When the captain, staggered by the thunderbolt which 
had partially demolished the rear end of Mrs. Anderson’s 
boudoir, pitched forward through the opening, he fell upon 
the pile of debris beneath and rolled almost at the feet of 
Gideon Sikes. This rascal, not satisfied with the result of 
his nocturnal entry into the mansion, was hanging around 
the building chewing the cud of his disappointment, and 
figuring up the possibilities that his hold upon the mistress 
of the house was likely to realize. 

The shock of the electric fluid, and the appearance of a 
human body projected at him in so unexpected a fashion, 
rather staggered the scoundrel. Some men under the cir- 
cumstances would have taken to their heels at once, and left 
the consideration of such a startling denoumeni to a sub- 
sequent occasion. Mr. Sikes, however, wasn’t built that 
way. He prided himself upon his nerve under trying cir- 
cumstances. Therefore he stood his ground. When the 
dust had subsided a little, he turned the inanimate bit of 
humanity over on its back, and immediately recognized 
Captain Graham. 

It was rather a startling discovery, to be sure, even to 
Mr. Sikes, who was no stranger to encounters of a realistic 
sort. Somehow or another, in his rough, uncouth nature, 
he entertained a kind of respect and liking for the manly 


86 


SHENANDOAH. 


young officer who had saved his life. Not that the rascal 
was capable of any delicate shade of gratitude for favors re- 
ceived ; he was too selfishly constituted for that ; hut it 
suited his humor to feel that he was indebted to Graham in 
a small way. 

Had it been any one else, it is doubtful if Gideon would 
have taken the trouble to examine the body, even for human- 
ity’s sake ; but as he entertained a selfish interest in the 
captain, and rather desired him to live than otherwise, he 
stooped down and felt about the officer’s heart for evidence 
of life. 

He soon satisfied himself that Graham was not dead ; but 
whether the young officer had sustained a fatal injury or not 
he was unable, of course, to decide. 

Gideon lost no time thinking over the matter. He was 
cute enough to foresee that both their interests would be 
best served if the Federal officer was removed from the scene 
of the accident. 

To this end Mr. Sikes took the limp body in his arms and 
carried it to the stables, where he placed it in the hayloft. 
Then he applied such rough restoratives as his fancy sug- 
gested. In this he was partially successful. Graham re- 
vived sufficiently to indicate that he was in no immediate 
danger of dying off-hand ; but he remained in a dazed, 
semi-conscious state all that night. Next morning Gideon 
found the young officer in the delirium of a high fever. He 
shook his head doubtfully, for it was altogether too risky to 
invite medical assistance. 

As one day followed another, Mr. Sikes exhibited an un- 
common interest in the patient he had voluntarily charged 
himself with. It was if anything enhanced by the reflec- 
tion that in harboring a Yankee officer he laid himself open 
to very grave consequences. Quite a new experience for the 
disreputable Gideon ; but his disposition had for the time 
being taken a rather contrary turn, and he frequently 
chuckled to himself over the situation. He had an undefined 


SHENANDOAH. 


87 


idea in his head that something advantageous to himself 
was sure to come out of the matter as soon as he found an 
opportunity to interview the mistress of the house. He flat- 
tered himself that he was a very foxy individual, as indeed 
he was to some extent ; but small minds like his are apt to 
overreach the mark. 

As time went on, whatever scheme Mr. Sikes entertained 
languished, as Stella Anderson, owing to her dangerous in- 
disposition, was unapproachable. Though the designing 
rascal was most probably ignorant of the aphorism ‘ ‘ that all 
things come to him who waits,” he nevertheless uncon- 
sciously followed out the principle in practice. He waited 
with unruffled patience. 

The crisis in Captain Graham’s condition was reached 
about the twenty-first day. Then it became evident that 
the young officer was likely to recover. How he had man- 
aged to pull through it all without medical assistance, and 
with only the roughest, scantiest kind of nursing, was one 
of those mysterious interpositions of Providence that are 
forever cropping up in this world as lessons to poor frail 
mortals, that they may pause and reflect upon the mercy of 
an all-wise Creator, and turn their eyes from the gross, mate- 
rial things of this earth toward the spiritual beauties beyond 
the sky. 

Graham was now the merest shadow of his old self. He 
lay upon the hay which composed his bunk, and tried to 
piece together the events of the past. In his weakened state 
he was not very successful at first. 

Mr. Sikes visited him at regular intervals, when he 
smuggled in such delicacies in the way of food as his in- 
genuity persuaded old Chloe, the cook, to part with. 

But he was decidedly non -communicative. To all Gra- 
ham’s entreaties for information concerning Stella, the 
time he had been sick, and the general run of events, he 
returned evasive answers, making his visits as brief as 
possible. 


88 


SHENANDOAH. 


The captain, of course, had lost all run of time. 
Whether he had been sick only a day or two, or for some 
time, he had no means of knowing. He would lie for 
hours in one position watching the advancing or retreating 
streaks of sunshine that fell upon the floor of the loft 
through the cracks in the woodwork. It was his only 
amusement ; but it answered the purpose of taking his mind 
off the rack the general tenor of his thoughts imposed. 

Graham, as soon as he grew stronger, began crawling 
about on the hay as a means of relief and recreation. Once 
he laid hold of the iron ring attached to the trap door 
through which communication was had with the lower part 
of the barn. Probably it was his intention to test his 
strength by trying to lift the flap. It was but a sorry 
effort. He found he was too weak to accomplish anything ; 
even had his powers been equal to the task, yet must he 
have failed, since the sagacious Mr. Sikes never forgot to 
shoot the bolt on the under side. 

There was no other means of entrance to or exit from the 
loft except by way of this trap. This fact Graham soon be- 
came cognizant of, and as he continued to improve, he 
wondered how long his rough nurse, meant to keep him 
cooped up in the place. 

“Well, cap’n, ” said Gideon one morning, in reply to a 
hint on the subject, “you’ve got to get strong and hearty 
before you dare venture from this place. It’s dangerous, 
and you must be able to look after yourself. Here you’re 
as snug as a bug in a rug, and safe enough if you don’t cut 
up a shindy, which, considering you’re a sensible man, 
ain’t likely to happen. ” 

“But, man, you drive me mad with anxiety. I ask you 
for information, to which I feel I’m entitled, and yet you’re 
as dumb as an oyster. ’ ’ 

“Considering that you’re a bit stronger to-day,” said 
Mr. Sikes, after reflecting a few moments, “I don’t mind 
if I answer two or three questions, provided, of course, 


SHENANDOAH. 


89 


that I have no objection to the queries. So fire away, and 
be quick about it, for I ain’t got no time to fool away up 
here. ’ ’ 

“First, then,” said Captaip Graham, “how long have I 
been ill?” 

“How long?” said Mr. Sikes, scratching his beard. 

‘ ‘ Well, I guess close on to four weeks. ’ ’ 

“Impossible!” ejaculated the officer, in amazement. 

“All right,” said Gideon, olf-hand like, “have it your 
own way, if you want to. Figure it out to suit yourself — 
it’s all the same to me. ” 

“Good heavens, man, have I been a month in this 
place?” 

“It was the middle of July when I picked you up, 
stunned and bleeding, that night outside the house, and 
brought you here ; it’s now well along in August. If 
you’re that particular I s’pose I could reckon up the exact 
number of days. ’ ’ 

The captain was silent. He could not realize the flight 
of time. Nor was this at all singular, since a large part 
of that time had slipped away while his mind was a mere 
blank under the clutch of the fever. 

Then he asked eagerly about Stella ; but Mr. Sikes was 
very guarded in his answers. After that the captain’s 
thoughts anxiously reverted to the little drummer-boy. 

“Oh, that kid, eh? He’s hanging about the store waiting 
for you to turn up, I guess. He’s all right — you needn’t 
worry about him. ” 

Gideon, having more than exhausted the time limit he 
had set upon his visit, retired, and the captain was left 
again, in the solitude of the loft, to ponder upon the 
situation. 

Later on the afternoon of this day Graham was startled 
out of a doze by the distant sound of intermittent musketry 
firing. He was much surprised and greatly excited, as it 
was the first intimation he had that the Valley was 
become the theater of important military operations. 


90 


SHENANDOAH. 


Of course he was entirely ingorant of the fact that Gen- 
eral Early’s army was at that very moment retreating 
through the town to the strong position back of Strasburg, 
and that General Sheridan’s troops were steadily coming 
up the Valley pike. Gideon Sikes, who, naturally, was 
fully cognizant of the ticklish times that were drawing 
down upon the neighborhood, was careful not to post the 
captain with the particulars, since he knew too well that it 
would create an immediate complication in his relationship 
with the gallant Union officer. The rascal had no inten- 
tion to let Graham slip away from his surveillance. 

Early’s pickets occupied Hupp’s Hill, and the fusillade 
was the result of a demonstration on the part of the 
skirmish line thrown out by the Sixth and Eighth Corps of 
Sheridan’s forces, which had crossed Cedar Creek on either 
side of the pike. 

Graham’s blood quickened as he listened to the rifle- 
shots. He forgot his physical infirmities for the moment. 
Every nerve was on the alert, and the instinct of the 
soldier' was again strong upon him. He tried to get a view 
of the landscape whence the inspiriting sounds proceeded, 
but no convenient knothole rewarded his scrutiny of that 
side of the loft. It w r as impossible to see anything through 
the narrow crevices in the boards. So he was obliged to 
give up the attempt. 

The firing continued till after dark, and Captain Graham 
inwardly bewailed the fate that held him a prisoner, when 
his brothers-in-arms were engaged in such stirring tactics 
so close at hand. 

Mr. Sikes was late that night in bringing his patient’s 
supper. Graham immediately assailed him with many 
questions relative to the exciting events which were 
evidently in progress. 

“Well, cap’n, things are getting a bit warm in this 
neighborhood, that’s a fact. There’s forty thousand rebs, 
I should think, camped hereabouts, and Sheridan with his 


SHENANDOAH. 


91 


army are strung out on the north side of the creek at this 
moment. But it won’t do you any good to get excited over 
the matter — more likely to harm you, you’re that weak on 
the pins. ” 

“Nonsense,” said the captain, his hollow eyes flashing a 
new light, “you must get me away at once, even if I have 
to crawl. I can never rest till I’m under the old flag 
again. A regimental surgeon will bring me round again 
in a day or so. ’ ’ 

“It ain’t to be done, cap’n, ” said Mr. Sikes, positively. 
“We’re in a reg’lar hornet’s nest. You’d be stung with 
a rifle-ball before you got half a mile from here. Early’s 
pickets cover every inch of ground this side of the creek. ’ ’ 

“I shall go mad if I remain here,” said Graham 
excitedly. 

“I tell you there ain’t a ghost of a chance in your favor. 
Have a little patience. To-morrow, perhaps, the Yanks 
may drive the rebs back through the town. Then all you’ll 
have to do is wait till night and I’ll steer you into camp 
all right. ’ ’ 

Mr. Sikes thus outlined the very thing that actually 
occurred next day, and which, from his survey of the con- 
dition of affairs, he strongly conjectured would come 
about ; but his object in imparting this bit of information 
was done purely to keep Graham quiet. He knew the cap- 
tain couldn’t get out of the hayloft without co-operation; 
so he felt safe even with Strasburg in possession of the 
Northern forces. It was unlikely that the Anderson home- 
stead would be invaded by the soldiers. A requisition 
might be served on the colonel for supplies, but that was 
likely the worst thing to be apprehended — as Sheridan 
would not permit wanton despoliation of private property. 

Graham, much against his inclination, was obliged to 
admit the reasonableness of Mr. Sikes’ argument. He had 
no. suspicion that Gideon had ulterior motives affecting 
himself. Indeed, he felt a certain gratitude toward the 


92 


SHENANDOAH. 


rascal for his care and attention, without which he must 
have died or been returned into the hands of the enemy. 

Next morning Wright attacked Hupp’s Hill in force and 
routed out the enemy, after which his skirmishers were 
pushed forward into Strasburg. Mr. Sikes, however, 
informed Graham that the Union forces had only achieved 
a partial success, and that Early still occupied the imme- 
diate vicinity. 

The captain was disappointed ; but there was nothing for 
him to do but grin and bear it, and await more fortunate 
developments. Thus was Graham’s real opportunity for 
escape frustrated by the wily Sikes, for that night the 
Federal skirmish line was drawn back to the north side of 
Cedar Creek, and Early’s outposts reoccupied Hupp’s Hill. 

Three days later Sheridan secretly abandoned his eamp 
during the night, and on the following morning Early’s 
forces pushed forward in pursuit. 

That night Mr. Sikes informed Captain Graham of the 
unfortunate reverse of affairs in the neighborhood, and 
when he retired from the loft the scoundrel was in great 
glee over the successful issue of his strategy. 

Graham, having suffered the pangs of Tantalus for the 
best part of the week, was thrown into deep despondency by 
the complete failure of his anticipated plans. For an hour 
after the departure of Mr. Sikes he lay stretched out upon 
the straw, a prey to the bitterest feeling. But the natural 
buoyancy of manhood, handicapped though it was by his 
still weakened physical condition, came to his aid, and he 
resolved to escape without delay, if the thing were possible, 
without any assistance from his friend Gideon, who, the 
captain now began to suspect, was too vacillating and full 
of objections to put such a project into practice. 

Thin streaks of moonlight sifted through an occasional 
crack in the loft, lining the floor with ghostly pencil 
marks, and diffusing a dim, weird radiance about the hay. 
An old broken piece of rope hung directly over the closed 


SHENANDOAH, 


93 


trap. Though the captain knew it not, it was a ghastly 
memento of a tragedy which had occurred years previous. 
A young negro, after a particularly brutal whipping, had 
hanged himself there. When cut down the end of the rope 
had been allowed to remain, probably to scare any of his 
fellows from following his desperate example. 

Graham’s resolution put new strength into his limbs, 
and he lost no time in attacking the only avenue of exit — 
the trap. Dame Fortune, who had treated him rather 
scurvily for many weary months befriended him in a signal 
manner in this hour of need. Mr. Sikes that night, in the 
exuberance of his spirits, had been a bit careless in slipping 
the bolt underneath, It had barely caught, so that under 
the vigorous tugs of the Union officer the trap door presently 
came up with a jerk. 

Graham descended by the ladder into an abyss of pitchy 
darkness. He reached the stone flooring easily and began 
to explore the place. He found a couple of empty stalls on 
one side, and this suggested the probability of a disused 
opening in the rear through which manure must have been 
thrown out once upon a time. 

He knew that the prospect of getting out by the main 
entrance in front was not encouraging, as these doors were 
invariably secured on the outside by a heavy staple, or per- 
haps a padlock. So he directed his attention to the back 
partition, and was soon rewarded by finding the customary 
stable flap secured in place by a cross-bar. 

A persistent effort enabled him to pull out the bar, the 
frame that blocked the opening fell back reluctantly on its 
rusty iron hinges, and the way to freedom was open. 

A refreshing draught of air fanned Graham’s flushed face 
as he looked out. The moonlight lay calm and holy upon 
everything. The shadows cast by the various outhouses 
stood out sharply defined upon the ground. The only light 
visible on the estate came from the negro ‘ ‘ quarters, ’ ’ a 
few hundred feet away. Not a human being was in sight. 
Everything favored the officer’s escape. 


94 


SHENANDOAH. 


Three Top Mountain loomed in the background like a 
gigantic shadow reaching up as though to blot out the sky. 
A will-o’-the-wisp sort of light was to be seen on the very 
apex of the summit, glowing and paling by irregular turns. 
The rebel station up there was busy signaling information 
to Early. 

Graham waited until he heard the Strasburg clock toll 
the hour of eleven, then he felt that the time was propi- 
tious. It took some effort on his part to crawl through the 
opening; but as last he reached the ground outside. 

For some moments he stood in the shadow of the barn 
uncertain how to proceed. Then, as his mind took in the 
locality with all its old time clearness, he moved off in the 
direction of Mrs. Sikes’ house, intending to take charge of 
Jimmy once more. 

First, however, even at much personal risk, he decided to 
pass the old homestead itself, that he might take a last look 
at the windows of Stella’s room— for his heart fondly clung 
to the memory of his lost love. 

It was a fatal resolution. Love played him a treacherous 
prank. Like the fabled siren of the Rhine, the little god 
lured him unsuspectingly into a pitfall that promised his 
destruction. The toils began to tighten invisibly about 
him with the accidental explosion of the revolver by the 
now desperate Mr. Sikes, after the bloody work we have 
already described. 

Startled by the shot under circumstances so unusual, 
Graham felt that the signal appealed to his manhood, and 
he never hesitated. When he entered the house it was to 
meet his fate. 


The capture of Captain Graham and little Jimmy by Farmer Morgan.— See page 123. 



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SHENANDOAH. 


95 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S PROTEGE BOBS UP SERENELY. 

The town of Strasbnrg being under martial law, Captain 
Robert Graham was taken in charge by the military 
authorities pending the result of Colonel Anderson’s 
wound. As the colonel was the most important personage 
in that section of the country, the prisoner was regarded by 
his captors in no very friendly light. 

Graham was first brought before the provost-marshal, a 
pompous, red-faced official, and subjected to a strict cross- 
examination. 

“What is your name, sir?” 

‘ ‘ Robert Graham. ’ ’ 

“You belong to the Yankee army?” 

“I do, ” replied the young officer, proudly. 

“Your rank in the service?” 

‘ ‘ Captain. ’ ’ 

“You have escaped from Libby. ” 

“I decline to answer,” said Graham. 

‘ ‘ I have it on the authority of Colonel Anderson, sir . 9 9 

The Federal officer was silent. 

“Very well, sir; very well, sir. Perhaps you’ll explain 
your business at the colonel’s house?” 

“I’m afraid you are too prejudiced in the matter to 
accept any explanation I may offer, ” said Graham. 

“What do you mean, sir?” exclaimed the provost- 
marshal. ‘ ‘ How dare you, sir, address me that way 1 Do 
you know who I am?” 

* ‘ The provost-marshal, I presume. ’ 9 


96 


SHENANDOAH. 


‘ ‘ That is my official appellation, sir ; but, sir, I am 
Major Thaxter Truepenny, sir.” 

The major swelled out like a turkey-cock and glared 
ferociously at the prisoner, evidently expecting that the 
Yankee officer would wilt on the spot. This species of 
intimidation, however, was lost on Graham, who merely 
smiled and waited for further developments. 

“Will you answer my question, sir?” said the major 
irascibly. 

“Certainly,” said Graham, “if you will allow me to do 
so in my own way ” 

“Go on, sir; but, sir, do not expect me to believe you, 
sir. You are here upon a grave charge, sir ; a very grave 
charge, sir: assault, with intent to commit murder. You 
were taken red-handed ; do you hear me, sir ; red-handed, 
with the knife in your possession, sir ; and covered with 
blood, sir— the colonel' s blood. Do you presume to deny all 
this?” 

“I am entirely innocent of the charge,” said Graham. 
“What, sir.!” 

Major Thaxter Truepenny opened his eyes very wide, and 
grew positively scarlet in the face, which, to say the truth, 
was naturally of a pronounced crimson hue, arising, perhaps, 
from too close an acquaintanceship with the brandy bottle. 

“Major Truepenny,” said Graham, feeling a faintness 
creeping upon him, “I am not well — very ill, in fact; will 
you permit me to sit down a few minutes?” 

“What!” thundered the major, aghast; “sit down, sir! 
in my presence, sir ! how dare you make such a request?” 

“I am just getting over a fever, sir. My appearance 
ought to convince you I am speaking but the truth,” said 
Graham, who certainly looked as if he was about to faint. 

“Your appearance, sir, and your condition is nothing to 
me, sir. Do you hear me, sir? nothing to me! What! 
what! Are you mad! Sergeant, stand that man up!” 
Graham had dropped into a chair from sheer weakness, 


SHENANDOAH. 


97 


and looked as white as a ghost through the beard with which 
time had encircled his face. The subaltern laid his hand 
upon the young Federal officer ; but he was a man of dis- 
cernment and feeling, and he hesitated to carry out the 
mandate, for lie clearly perceived that the prisoner was in 
no condition to stand. 

“Have you gone to sleep, sergeant?” said the major 
sharply. 

“No, sir; but I’m afraid it is not possible for fhis man 
to keep his feet, ’ ’ said the petty officer respectfully. 

“Sergeant O’ Dwyer, will you please permit me to be the 
judge of his condition. Stand him up !” 

There was nothing for the subaltern to do but obey. He 
gently forced Graham into a standing posture. Only for a 
moment, and then he felt the prisoner relax to a dead 
weight in his arms. 

“The man has fainted, sir.” 

“Fainted! This is outrageous! How dare he faint in 
my presence — in the presence of the provost-marshal?” 

As this was rather a difficult question to answer to the 
satisfaction of such an unreasonable, irate personage as 
Major Thaxter Truepenny, the sergeant discreetly said noth- 
ing, but stood bolt upright, holding Graham tight by one 
arm : not a very hard thing to do, considering that the 
young officer w T as lean and emaciated by sickness, while the 
subaltern was a tall and uncommonly vigorous specimen 
of manhood. 

In spite of his sputtering and very strong military lan- 
guage, the major was obliged to bow before the inevitable. 
With ill-grace he ordered a surgeon to be sent for, since 
there was no disguising the fact that Graham was in a 
critical condition. 

The result of it all was that the young officer was ordered 
under guard to the hospital, where for a week he lay 
between life and dea^h. The attendants, who w T ere aware 
of the serious charge which rested upon the sick prisoner, 


SHENANDOAH. 


98 

were surprised that he should.be an object of consideration 
to any one connected, however remotely, with the Ander- 
son homestead; for Margaret Sikes, usually accompanied 
by Jimmy, paid almost daily visits to the ward where he 
lay, and both showed unmistakable signs of concern at his 
condition. 

Once out of danger Captain Graham recovered lost 
ground rapidly. Two weeks later he was discharged from 
the hospital, and came once more under the tender mercies 
of the provost-marshal. This officer, acting under instruc- 
tions from Colonel Anderson, did not turn the prisoner 
over to the city authorities, as the nature of the charge 
indicated he had a right to do, but had Graham confined to 
a room in the top floor of a three-story frame building 
adjoining his office. It was used as a military depot for 
holding Federal prisoners pending their transfer to Rich- 
mond. Naturally, it was well guarded, a sentry on each 
landing, and similar precautionary measures visible in the 
front and rear. There were many windows to the building, 
but prisoners were forbidden, on penalty of being shot, to 
look out of them. 

Captain Graham was glad to know, especially for Stella’s 
sake, that the colonel had survived his desperate knife- 
wound ; though it is true that, owing to his age, he was 
not entirely out of all danger. 

The whole affair was a great mystery to the young offi- 
cer ; but chiefly was the conduct of the colonel in fasten- 
ing the crime upon his shoulders incomprehensible. If the 
master of the house had really been stricken down una- 
wares, and therefore was ignorant of the identity of the real 
would-be assassin, why had he, upon recovering his 
senses, been so definite in accusing an innocent man? It 
w r as an enigma, worthy of the fabled sphinx, and quite 
beyond Graham himself. 

Then, too, Stella, through Margaret, had conveyed her 
sympathy to him, and the positive assertion that she knew 


SHENANDOAH. 


99 


him to be innocent ; that she had indistinctly seen the 
figure of her husband’s assailant, and had heard the man’s 
voice declare he had dropped the knife, in tones so horribly 
realistic that they were forever ringing in her ears. 

Stella had had one short, unsatisfactory interview with 
her husband. Her defense of Captain Graham, even 
backed up by her own evidence of that- awful brief experi- 
ence in the library that night, never moved the colonel a 
whit from the position he had from the first assumed 
antagonistic to Robert Graham. It simply widened the 
breach between husband and wife. Family pride, how- 
ever, forebore any public exhibition of their estrangement. 

The disappearance of the pseudo Samuel Gregson on the 
night of the assault, would certainly have led to the 
gravest suspicion against him, but for the colonel’s positive 
identification of his assailant, which naturally relieved the 
rascal of complicity in the deed’. 

Stella had her own views on the subject. Though the ter- 
rible voice that haunted her waking thoughts, and even 
figured in her dreams, bore no resemblance to the usual 
voice of Gregson, still she suspected the man. She felt 
that there was some deep mystery at the bottom of the 
affair that time alone could clear up. 

Margaret ventured no opinion even to Stella. In her 
own mind she had already arraigned her husband for the 
dastardly deed. She knew he hated Colonel Anderson, and 
the climax was worthy of his depraved disposition. Still her 
woman’s nature seized upon the absence of direct proof as a 
plea to defend the man she had once so truly loved, and 
could not yet wholly cast aside. 

Thus, things were sadly out of joint at the old homestead 
and at the Sikes’ store. 

While these two staunch friends of Captain Graham’s 
were grieving over his unfortunate position, and wringing 
their hands, so to speak, over their inability to assist him, 
a third, and a small bit of humanity he was — namely the 


100 


SHENANDOAH. 


lad Jimmy, all unnoticed, was working out a number of 
schemes looking to the captain’s release from the toils of 
the enemy. 

That the officer was guilty of the crime laid to his 
account never struck the lad as deserving of serious 
attention. 

“Dat’s a put-up job, yous kin bet yer life,” said Jimmy 
to himself one afternoon, as he was sunning himself in 
Mrs. Sikes’ yard. “Dere’s a nigger in dat ere wood pile, 
or I’m a mutton-headed duffer. It’s as clear as mud dat de 
colonel hez a grudge ag’ in de cap. But what puzzles dis 
chicken is where wuz de cap all de time we wuz lookin’ 
fur him. Dese women make me weary. Wot’s de use 
’er cry in’ over spilt milk. Dey t’ink a heap of de cap, but 
dey ain’t got de gumption ter figger out some scheme ter 
get him out ’er de ‘hole’ he’s in. De hull t’ing falls on 
dis rooster. Well, I give ’em leave ter call me a stuff if I 
don’t toe de line and git de cap off . ” 

When Jimmy heard that the captain had been removed 
from the hospital to the military depot adjoining the 
provost-marshal’s, he straightway walked into town and 
succeeded, without attracting notice, in getting a correct 
survey of the building and neighborhood. 

He struck up an acquaintance with the sentry in the 
rear, and picked up a deal of information, through his 
artless fashion of asking apparently aimless questions and 
then quizzing his informant. The soldier was greatly 
amused by his queer street dialect, and Jimmy “stuffed” 
him, so to speak, to the top of his bent. There were no 
“flies” on Jimmy Montgomery, you may well believe. 

On the following day the sharp little drummer-boy was 
the bearer of a note from the colonel’s lady to Captain 
Graham. The officer in charge of the depot refused to 
allow him into the building without a written order from 
the provost-marshal. So Jimmy marched into the awful 
presence of Major Thaxter Truepenny. 


SHENANDOAH. 


101 


He waited twenty minutes before the major deigned to 
notice his presence. 

“What do you want, boy?” he said gruffly. 

“I’ve got a letter fur Cap’n Graham,” said Jimmy. 

‘ * Give it to me then, ’ ’ said the officer sharply. 

“Me orders is ter see de cap,” said the lad positively. 

“Sergeant!” roared the provost-marshal. 

The subaltern appeared. 

“Throw that young rascal out of the office !” 

“Yous kin t’row me out if yous want ter; but yous kin 
bet yer sweet life de colonel’s lady’ll make yer smart fur 
it,” said Jimmy defiantly. 

“What do you mean, you young villain?” roared Major 
Truepenny, feeling that his dignity was assaulted. 

“Dat’s what I mean. Dis letter is from de wife of Colo- 
nel Anderson — see! Well, den t’row me out, and see what 
yous will get. ’ ’ 

“What!” exclaimed the major, who was in truth a great 
snob, and would sooner have lost his right hand than have 
given offense to so important a connection as the colonel’s 
lady. ‘ £ Why — why —why ! Let me see that letter. ’ ’ 

“Nixy. De cap gets dat letter from me, or he don’t get 
it at all — see !” 

“You young rascal!” sputtered the major. “Hold up the 
envelope so I can see it. Oh, yes, that’s the colonel’s 
family stamp, sure enough. Singular that his wife should 
write to the prisoner Graham.” 

However, Major Truepenny wrote the necessary order 
authorizing the bearer to be admitted to the prisoner. 

So the second step in Master Jimmy’s strategetical plan 
was achieved. He returned to Mrs. Sikes’ highly elated, 
for he had located the captain’s room, and calculated its 
height from the ground. 


102 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

RECORDS AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN JIMMY AND THE COLONEL’S 

LADY. 

Master Jimmy started in bright and early the following 
morning to make a heavy lead sinker, and while thns 
engaged was accosted by the shock-headed youth, who 
inquired in satirical tones if he was getting ready to go 
fishing for whales. 

“Naw, ” said our hero, “I’m goin’ fishin’ fur suckers.” 

The store-boy glared viciously at the lad whom he con- 
sidered an interloper on the premises. Feeling that he had 
been insulted, he rolled up his sleeves with the significant 
intention of settling old scores there and then, without 
further circumlocution. When Jimmy let him up, five 
minutes later, the shock-headed boy slunk into the house 
a sadder and wiser party, and looking for all the world as 
if he had been through a threshing machine. 

That afternoon Master Montgomery went into town 
again, and hung round the depot till his sentry acquaint- 
ance came on duty again. His manner on this occasion 
was extremely childlike and bland, but he found out what 
he wanted to know — namely, that this particular rebel 
soldier would be on guard in the rear of the prison, two 
nights hence, from midnight till four in the morning. 

That afternoon Master Jimmy took a note from Margaret 
to the Anderson homestead, and was admitted to Stella’s 
boudoir. Mrs. Anderson was reclining on the lounge, the 
picture of a woman who had suffered keenly — both physi- 
cally and mentally. At a motion from her mistress the 


SHENANDOAH. 


103 


maid retired, and iho little drummer-boy remained alone, 
somewhat abashed, in the presence of the colonel’s lady. 

“I believe you are Captain Graham’s protege,” said 
Stella, in a low voice. 

“What’s dat, ma’am?” said Jimmy diffidently. 

“You are the lad the captain brought from Richmond, 
I mean, ’ ’ she said. 

“Yep ; de cap helped me ter escape along wid him. He’s 
a reg’lar brick, ma’am. ” 

Stella smiled a bit sadly. 

“You like the captain, I can see.” 

“Like him, ma’am; yous kin bet yer life I do,” said 
Jimmy enthusiastically. “Don’t you?” he added naively. 

“Why do you ask me that?” 

Jimmy opened his eyes. 

“Ain’t yous de lady dat the cap t’ inks so much of? Yer 
as pretty as a picter, and I don’t wonder dat he got clean 
stuck on yous. De cap wuz alwus lookin’ at yer picter, or 
at dat ere bunch of flowers dat he kept about him. I’ve 
seen him do it twenty times a day in de prison. Yep, and 
arter we skipped out, too, when he t’ ought I wasn’t 
lookin’. ” 

Stella, deeply moved, buried her face in her handker- 
chief. 

“Don’t cry, ma’am; I’m sorry dat I spoke about dem 
t’ings, ” said Jimmy nervously. “I didn’t mean ter hurt 
yer feelinks. ’ ’ 

“You need not blame yourself,” said Stella, looking up. 
“Captain Graham and I were once very dear friends, 
before — I was married. ” 

“Yer oughtn’t ter have trow’d de cap over, ma’am,” 
said Jimmy reproachfully. “He’d go t’rougli fire and 
water fur yer ; an’ so would I, fur de cap’s sake. ” 

“We mustn’t talk of that, boy. You cannot understand 
the terrible error of it all. I have suffered — I suffer now, 
you can see that. I shall suffer till death brings my 
tortured heart relief. ’ ’ 


104 


SHENANDOAH . 


The little drummer-boy was silent. 

‘ ‘ The note I gave Margaret Sikes yesterday to enable you 
to see Captain Graham— did you succeed in reaching 
him?” 

“Yep. De provost-marshal wuz goin’ ter t’row me out; 
but when he seed de envelope he kinder changed his tune 
and gave me de order ter go in. ” 

‘ ‘ The military regulations are very strict, ’ ’ said Stella. 

“Pat’s a fact ; it’s a pretty hard t’ing ter brace ’em— but 
de letter did de biz ter de queen’s taste.” 

“Iam very glad it helped you then. ’ ’ 

“Yous ought’er be, if yer t’inks well of de cap,” said 
Jimmy significantly. 

“You seem to put a hidden meaning in your words, 
boy,” she said, looking at him earnestly. 

“Dat wuz de fust step toward gettin’ de cap off . ” 

“I don’t quite understand you,” she said. 

“De cap must escape, ma’am ; and I’ve got a scheme dat 
I t’ink ’ll do de t’ing up brown.” 

“You!” exclaimed Stella, amazed. 

“Yep — fur a fact,” said Jimmy, nodding his head after 
a very positive fashion. 

‘ ‘ Why, what can you do — a mere boy ?’ ’ 

“What kin I do, ma’am; yous ’ll see after I’ve worked 
de racket. ’ ’ 

“Then there is a chance of Captain Graham making his 
escape?” said Stella eagerly. 

“Yep ; and yous kin help me ter do it, ” said Jimmy. 

“I!” exclaimed Stella, sitting up, and regarding the lad 
earnestly. 

Jimmy nodded vigorously. 

‘ ‘ Tell me in what manner I can aid you and I will do so 
at any hazard,” she said. 

“I must see de cap de day arter ter-morrer. If yous ’ll 
give me anudder note ter de cap ” 

41 J’m afraid,” said Stella, interrupting him, “that it 


SHENANDOAH. 


105 


would be impolitic for me to send a second letter to Captain 
Graham. ’ ’ 

The lad seemed disappointed. 

“But don’t be discouraged. If your object is simply to 
see the captain yourself, I am sure I can arrange the matter 
quite as well another way. Major Truepenny, the provost- 
marshal, is an intimate friend of the colonel and myself. 
He will not refuse any reasonable request I may ask of 
him. Of course, it will naturally look strange in me to 
show an interest in the man who is charged with a murder- 
ous assault upon my husband ; but I must endure this in 
order to further your plan, my brave lad. Robert Graham 
is an innocent man, and I know it, but my husband insists 
that he is the guilty party. The colonel is a stern man, 
and will do all in his power to have the captain punished. 
It therefore behooves those who have Robert Graham’s 
interest at heart to do all they can to get him out of his 
dangerous position. I will write a note to the major 
asking him to permit you to see the captain. I w T ould sug- 
gest, as an excuse for your visit, that; you ask Margaret to 
put up something nice in the way of eatables, with a bottle 
of wine. Prison fare is cold comfort, especially for one 
just out of the hospital. ’ ’ 

“You’re a brick, ma’am” exclaimed Jimmy enthusiast- 
ically, but recollecting himself he suddenly subsided in 
some confusion. 

“I pray heaven that your efforts will be crowned with 
success, my boy. A singular ill-fortune has followed the 
captain since the opening of the war. Were I a man I 
should move heaven and earth to effect his rescue ; but I 
am only a woman, standing in such a delicate position in 
this matter, that I scarcely dare make a move in the 
interest of the man for whom, if it were possible, I would 
gladly give my life. ’ ’ 

“Yous is de right sort, ma’am, arter all — yous is true 
blue, and I’m sorry dat I had hard feelinks ag’in yous fur 


106 


SHENANDOAH. 


de way I t ’ought yous had treated de cap. I knows dat 
I’m tough, and I ain’t used ter perlite s’ciety, ’cause me 
mudder didn’t live on Fifth avenoo ; but all de same yous ’ll 
lind dat I’m dead straight ter dose dat hev been good ter 
me.” 

Stella took the lad’s coarse hands in hers and looked 
into his eyes. 

“I believe you, my brave boy, from my heart. The sen- 
timents you express would do honor to those possessed of 
advantages of birth and education that you unfortunately 
lack. You are indeed a true diamond in the rough. ” 

She drew the lad to her and kissed him on the forehead. 

“When you see Captain Graham tell him I have kept the 
flowers he threw at my feet that night when his heart 
accused me of having been false to the love that I had 
promised was his alone. They are but a few withered 
forget-me-nots, but I tend them night and day — after I 
have warmed them on my heart I water them with my 
tears. It is all I have to remind me of what was, and 
what might have been. ’ ’ 

Stella rose and walked to her writing-desk, where, after 
she had composed herself, she wrote a brief note to Major 
Truepenny, wording it so as to touch the man’s vanity, 
which she knew was his weak point. 

“Here, my boy, take this, and may God bless and 
prosper you in your undertaking. ’ ’ 

She watched the lad as he left the house, and followed 
him with her eyes until his retreating form was lost among 
the trees. 

The boy’s rough devotion toward her lover had awakened 
her keenest interest, and she prayed that in some way she 
might be able to brighten the lad’s future. It is wise, no 
doubt, that we may not pierce the mystery of events that 
lie before us. Else had Stella experienced an inexpressible 
sadness, for never again in this world was she to look upon 
the plain features of that little hero. 


SHENANDOAH. 


107 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE ESCAPE OF CAPTAIN GRAHAM. 

Colonel Anderson had already decided that Captain 
Graham was to be turned over to the civil authorities for 
trial as soon as he himself was able to appear against him 
in court. He might have had Graham removed at once to 
the common jail ; but he forebore to add that indignity 
upon the man he hated, because of an inherent respect for 
his military rank. An old soldier himself, he felt that the 
officer his jealousy meant to ruin should be guarded by his 
peers until pronounced by law a felon. 

Graham passed the hours of confinement in sad reflection. 
Fate seemed to have pressed to his lips her bitterest 
draughts, that he fain must drink to the dregs. A soldier 
of the Union, his first battle had thus far proved to be his 
last. Many a soldier who followed him to Libby Prison 
had been exchanged, and had returned to the field to take 
his place again as a part of that living, throbbing bulwark 
against which the recreant South in vain hurled the 
flower of her chivalry. Yet, an averse destiny had singled 
him out to bear in oblivion his country’s cross. Is it a 
wonder that the young officer felt his lot bear hard upon 
him? And now, ill-fortune seemed to have exhausted her 
spleen in this final catastrophe — her coup de grace — which 
robbed him alike of love, of honor, and held before his 
despairing gaze the reflection of a prison cell. 

The sun was setting behind the peaks of Little North 
Mountain range, and the slanting rays fell athwart the 
open window of the room where Captain Graham was con- 


108 


SHENANDOAH . 


fined. It lit up the young officer’s pale face with a crim- 
son glow, as he stood leaning against the moulding, his 
eyes fixed in an absent kind of way upon the peaceful 
prospect spread out before him. 

There came the sound of footsteps upon the stairs leading 
to the landing where the sentry’s tread echoed with 
monotonous regularity. The soldier on guard came to a 
halt, some words were spoken, and then the padlock secur- 
ing Graham’s room door was unlocked, and the door 
pushed open. On the threshold stood a rebel non-commis- 
sioned officer and Jimmy, the drummer-boy, with a basket 
on his arm. 

“You are allowed to remain with the prisoner for twenty 
minutes, youngster. At the end of that time I shall return 
and let you out,” said the soldier. 

He pulled the door shut, relocked it, and went down- 
stairs, the sentry resuming his lonesome march up and 
down the landing. 

“Jimmy,” said Graham, with a smile, “you’re a wel- 
come visitor. It’s dreadfully lonesome to be shut up here 
all by one’s self, the livelong day, seeing no one but the 
soldier who brings your miserable rations.” 

“It’s kinder tough, cap; but unless yous fail ter-night 
dis is yer last day in dis old caboose. ’ ’ 

“The scheme you hinted at three days ago promises well, 
then?” said the captain eagerly. 

“Yep,” said Jimmy laconically. 

“How are you going to manage it, my lad? It puzzles 
me how you expect me to get out of this room. There’s 
not the ghost of a chance by way of the door. This win- 
dow is the only other means of egress, and without a pair 
of wings, or, to speak seriously, a long rope, I cannot see 
the feasibility of escape in that direction. Besides a sentry 
paces the court below, night and day. ” 

“Well, cap, I’ll give yous de hull t’ing straight, while 
yer pitchin’ inter de grub dat I brought yer.” 


S BEN AND OA 11. 


109 


“Who sent this to me, Jimmy?” 

“De colonel’s lady, t’rough Mrs. Sikes.” 

“Stella! she’s an angel.” 

“’Deed she is, cap, widout wings. I seed her meself 
t ’udder day. ” 

“You saw her Jimmy?” 

“Yep; in her boudoor, as Mrs. Sikes calls it.” 

“Are you joking?” 

“Nixy — hope I may die if ’tain’t so. Sail in, cap, de 
grub is cold, ’cause why, I couldn’t bring no stove wid 
me — see; but it’s fust-rate. Ain’t dose prime sand- 
wiches — dey look as if dey ’ud melt in yer mout’. And 
dere’s a cake and a pie dat Mrs. Sikes backed a-purpose ter 
send yous. Dat wine come from de colonel’s cellar, and is- 
a special article. I’ll draw de cork. Dere yous are. He’p 
yerself ter de banquet, while I unload meself of dis yer 
fishline. ’ ’ 

Jimmy whisked off his coat and loose shirt, and disclosed 
a strong brown twine wound tightly about his body. 

“What’s that for, Jimmy? Is that the rope you expect 
me to slide down by?” 

“What do yous take me fur? Naw — it’s de line yer to 
lower from de winder ter-night after twelve. Dere’s de 
sinker ter keep it steady. I’ll have a rope fur yous 
underneath — see ! When yer feeis a strong tug, pull up, 
take in de end of de rope I send yer, fasten it to de iron 
cot in de corner, and den sneak quick— see !” 

“Jimmy, your ingenuity does you credit; but how are 
you going to do all this under the nose of the sentry?” 

“Yer leave dat ter dis chicken. I’m bossin’ dis job, cap, 
till yer gets off, den yous kin run t’ings yerself. ” 

All this time Jimmy was unwinding himself rapidly. 
When the task was completed, he gathered the twine 
around his hand and elbow, into compact form, and con- 
cealed it under the officer’s blanket at the foot of the cot. 

“End of chapter one— ter be continued in our next, as de 


no 


SHENANDOAH. 


story paper says. What a dandy picteryous ’udmake fur a 
noyel, gettin’ out at de winder and a-swingin’ down der 
rope like a big black spider. It ’ud take like wildfire, fur a 
fact. ’ ’ 

“You’re a genius, Jimmy. When I took you from Rich- 
mond, I was unconsciously following the scriptural 
quotation, ‘ Cast thy bread upon the waters, for after many 
days it shall return to thee . 9 It is returning in a way I 
had little reason to expect. If we are so fortunate as to 
effect our escape hence, you may depend on my lifelong 
gratitude. ’ ’ 

“ Yous needn’t t’ank me fur nothin’, cap, I’m only doin’ 
me dooty. ’ ’ 

“Your duty,” said the captain earnestly. “Ah, my lad, 
you undervalue the noble self-sacrifice you have undertaken 
in my behalf. Another in your place would have taken 
advantage of your opportunities and made good his retreat, 
weeks ago, when our troops were in this neighborhood. 
This you might easily have effected without any great 
strain on your loyalty. Instead, .you have, like a little 
Spartan, chosen to face a desperate issue solely for my 
sake. ’ ’ 

“And lier’s, cap,” said Jimmy. 

“Who do you mean?” said the captain. 

“De colonel’s lady— yer old sweetheart.” 

“You saw her?” 

“Yep. She’s true ter yous, cap, ’cos she loves yer in 
spite of everyt’ing. ” 

‘ ‘ How can you guess that ?— she would not confess it even 
to me. ’ ’ 

“I see’d it in her eyes when she spoke of yous. Den she 
sent yer a message. ’ ’ 

“A message,” cried Graham eagerly. “What message?” 

“ ‘Tell Cap’n Graham, dat I have kept de flowers dat he 
t’rew down dat night, ’ dem are de words as near as I kin 
remember. Den she said dat she kept dem near her heart 


SHENANDOAH. 


Ill 


and soaked dem wid her tears. Dat dey was all dat she 
had ter t’ink of yous by. ” 

Graham choked back a sob. 

‘ ‘ My lost darling ! ’ ’ 

“And, cap, she — kissed me,” said Jimmy. 

Graham caught the boy in his arms. 

‘ ‘ Cherish the thought of that kiss, my lad — for it carries 
with it an unuttered blessing, I am sure. Witn womanly 
intuition she saw that, young as you are, you possess the 
stuff of which heroes are made . 5 ’ 

Further conversation was checked by the unlocking of the 
padlock outside, and Jimmy had only time to whisper : 

“Remember, cap, ter-night at twelve,” when the cor- 
poral appeared on the threshold. 

“Time’s up,” he said shortly. 

Jimmy took up the basket. 

“All right,” he grinned, “keep yer shirt on, and lead de 
way. Yer wants ter treat me perlite, ’cos me friend, de 
provost -marshal, has given me an invite ter supper — see!” 

And Jimmy marched downstairs with the air of a grand 
duke. 


The town clock of Strasburg struck the midnight hour 
with its usual solemn deliberation. With military 
promptitude, the sentry back of the depot was changed. 

Perhaps twenty minutes had passed since the new guard 
went on duty, when his alert ear detected the sound of 
light footsteps coming up the court. Some one was 
approaching under the shadow of the buildings. 

“Halt!” 

“Hello! is dat you?” exclaimed a boyish voice. 

“Stand out from the wall where I can see you !” 

The sentry spoke sternly, and there was an ominous 
click as he cocked his gun. 

“Don’t yous know me?” 


112 


SHENANDOAH . 


Master Jimmy Montgomery, however, was careful to 
obey the sharp command : 

‘ ‘ Advance, there — halt ! ’ ’ 

The soldier presented his bayonet full at the lad’s breast. 

“Now, then, who are you, and what are you doing 
here?” 

“I’m Jimmy, don’t yer know. I was on a little racket 
and me old woman locked me out— see ! So I t’ouglit, as I 
know’d you was standin’ guard ter-night, I’d come round 
and see yous. ” 

“Oh, I know you now. It’s against orders to talk while 
on post, so Master Jimmy, as I don’t want to get into the- 
guard-room, you’d better turn about and go home.” 

“Didn’t I tell yous I’m locked out,” said the boy, in an 
aggrieved tone. 

“I’m sorry for you, Jimmy, but you can’t stay here.” 

The sentry spoke very decidedly. 

“Dat’s too bad, fur a fact. Why, I t’ought you and me 
could have a quiet talk all by ourselves, and dat would pass 
de night fur me. ’Sides I’ve got a flask’r whisky. 

The word touched the sentry’s weak spot. This was the 
failing Jimmy had discovered in the man a few days be- 
fore, and on which he depended for the success of his dar- 
ing scheme to rescue his friend, the captain. 

‘ ‘ Yer see de old woman gave me de bottle ter fill for her 
—yous kin bet she likes her dose wid de next one— but I 
guess she forgot I was ter bring de stuff, or de door 
wouldn’t "’r been shat in me face. Dat’s de time she cut 
her nose off ter spite herself. ’ ’ 

“You’re a cute/un,” said the soldier, with a laugh. 

“Oh, I know a t’ing or two. Me old man was goin’ ter 
send me ter college, so dat I could fit meself for gov’nor of 
de state, but he was took kinder sudden wid de black 
whoopin’ cough, and de old woman had all de trouble of 
plantin’ him. ” 

“Well, Jimmy, you may come closer. As this is a lone- 


SHENANDOAH. 


113 


some beat, I think I’ll take a swig at your bottle to brace 
me up a bit. I’ve more than three hours yet before me. ” 

Jimmy had the flask out in a twinkling. 

“I s’pose dat I’ll catch a lickin’ in de mornin’ fur dis, ” 
he said, as he handed over the bottle, “but I’d as lief be 
hung fur a sheep as a lamb. ’ ’ 

The soldier grounded his gun and took a long drink. 

“If that’s the stuff your old woman drinks, I reckon she 
knows what good liquor is. ’ ’ 

“She pays fur de best, and she can guzzle it widout 
winkin’,” said the lad, thus irreverently alluding to his 
imaginary parent. 

“Then I’ll drink her health,” said the soldier, seizing 
this excuse for another copious draught. “It goes down 
like oil, ’ ’ he continued, holding out the flask reluctantly 
toward Jimmy. The boy pretended not to observe his 
action, and the soldier presently pulled back his arm. 
“We soldiers don’t get such stuff as this. ” 

“Yous kin keep de bottle,” said Jimmy. “As I can’t 
stay wid yer, I’ll go ter roost in de straw in dat shed down 
de court. Good-night.” 

“Good-night, Jimmy. Devilish strong stuff, this— I guess 
your old woman is seasoned to it. ’ ’ 

“Reg’larly soaked wid it,” said Jimmy, as he moved off. 
Presently he climbed a fence and disappeared. The soldier 
watched him rather dreamily, and then shouldered his gun. 

He staggered a bit as he started off, pulled himself 
together quickly, but soon fell into a slow, stupid kind of 
walk that was decidedly incompatible with his duty. 

In ten minutes something was heard to drop in the 
court, rattling loudly on the pavement. This was followed 
by a muttered imprecation. A period of silence, and then 
a muffled sound came out of the intense stillness, as of a 
soft body striking the stones. 

Dong ! 

It was one by the belfry clock. As the echo died away 


114 


SHENANDOAH. 


on the night air a head appeared above the fence where 
Jimmy had disappeared a quarter of an hour before. A 
diminutive body followed, and the combination, to which 
presently appeared a pair of legs, dangled upon the fence 
like an uncanny goblin. 

In another moment the apparition bounced out into the 
court, and glided quickly along close to the wall where the 
shadows were thickest. 

There was no sharp-eyed sentinel now to challenge the 
intruder, so' the imp-like figure crept closer and closer to 
the spot where a long blot was embossed upon the pave- 
ment. 

“De drug worked ter de queen’s taste,” said a voice that 
was unmistakable, even in the gloom. “When dey finds 
him in dis state, and dat de cap has escaped by de winder, 
I’m ’fraid his name ’ll be Dennis. It’s too bad dat I had 
ter do it— but everyt’ing goes in war, yous kin bet yer 
boots. ’ ’ 

Jimmy ran softly back to the fence, vaulted over, but in 
a moment returned with a coil of thin but tough rope. This 
he brought over to the wall of the depot. He felt carefully 
along the building till his hand came in contact with a 
thin line held stationary by a weight. He deftly tied the 
end of the rope securely to the cord, and then gave the 
latter two hard tugs. 

The rope immediately began to rise. 

“Good,” chuckled Jimmy, “t’ings are workin’ like a 
charm. ” 

The rope was long enough for the purpose in view, for 
the other end remained hanging within six feet of the 
ground. 

Jimmy kept his eye upon the captain’s window. Pres- 
ently he saw the form of his friend outlined against the 
clear sky, the line vibrated, and down came the officer 
with the utmost celerity. 

“Jimmy,” he said, as he touched the ground. 


SHENANDOAH. 


115 


“Here I am, cap. ” 

“Where’s the sentry?” 

“Dere he is, as snug as a bug.” 

“What have you done to him, lad?” 

“Dosed him, cap. ” 

“Ah ! Drugged ! How did you manage it?” 

“I found out dat he was a reg’lar soak when he could get 
de booze. So I put up a job on him. ’Twas de only 
chance I had ter get yous off. ’ ’ 

“I’m afraid he’ll be shot for this, poor fellow,” said 
Graham. 

“What else could 1 do, cap?” 

“Nothing. It’s a pity ; but such is the fortune of war.” 

“Yep — ’twas his life agin’ yourn. ” 

“He must take his chance,” said the officer. “Is it safe 
to venture down the court, or can we get into the next 
street by scaling that fence?” 

“Coxne wid me. You’d better put on dat feller’s hat and 
coat, fust. ’ ’ 

Graham was about to follow this suggestion when a flash 
and a report came from the window on the third floor of 
the depot, the room just quitted by the Federal officer. 

“ Yer escape is discovered. We’ve got ter sneak now, sure, 
cap. ’ ’ 

They ran along in the shadow till they came to the fence 
behind which Jimmy had concealed himself to wait the 
result of his ruse. The officer pushed Jimmy over and was 
up himself in a twinkling. As he dropped on the other 
side, another report smote the air, several windows were 
thrown up, and other signs demonstrated that the neighbor- 
hood was waking into life. 


116 


SHENANDOAH. 


% 


CHAPTER XVI. 

OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE. 

Piloted by Jimmy, whose prearranged plan of retreat 
was now likely to be disturbed by the fact that the alarm 
had been given, Captain Graham picked his way across the 
yard w r hich they had entered. They scaled several fences, 
and finally reached a narrow alley leading directly to the 
street. 

Here they paused to consider their next move. 

“This is bad,” said Graham. “Our retreat will be cut 
off presently, and the whole neighborhood searched. ’ ’ 

. “We must get across ter de udder side. Dere’s an alley 
leadin’ behind dat warehouse inter de next street. Come 
on, cap. ” 

The pair passed down the passage. The public thorough- 
fare appeared to be quite deserted. Taking courage of 
necessity, they crossed the way and vanished in the gloom 
alongside the big building. Just as they disappeared a 
couple of mounted troopers appeared at the head of the 
street, and, with jingling spurs* and^accouterments, dashed 
down the highway at top speed. 

The rattle of the horsemen was distinctly heard by the 
fugitives, and they hugged their place of concealment until 
the sound died away. When Graham and his companion 
reached the street beyond, they were much relieved to find 
that no sign of activity appeared in that direction. 

They crossed over and began another tour of byways and 
sheds until they reached the pavement again. The silence 


SHENANDOAH. 


117 


encouraged them to take a less laborious and more expedi- 
tious course, following the shadows which the rising moon 
projected upon one side of the thoroughfare. 

By degrees and without mishap they entered upon the 
residential section of the town, and finally reached the 
outskirts. 

“We’d better take this road, Jimmy, and then cut across 
the fields. It must be after two o’clock. Daylight will 
begin to creep upon us before long, and we’ll have to seek 
concealment somewhere, for the hue and cry will soon be 
strong upon our heels. They’ll have mounted men after 
me in every direction. ” 

“All right, cap, you’re bossin’ de snap now,” said 
Jimmy complacently. 

The Blue Ridge Mountains was before them, though at 
a considerable distance. That was the captain’s objective 
point. He trusted to luck for some means of shelter where 
they might hope to elude observation during the day, for 
it would be dangerous to stir abroad except under the 
friendly cover of darkness. 

They had hardly gone half a mile along the country road 
before they heard the sound of horses hoofs in their rear. 
The moon was shining brilliantly, and the landscape was 
almost as light as day. 

A slight turn in the road hid the rebel cavalrymen. Gra- 
ham and Jimmy were walking as close as possible to the 
fence. They vaulted the rails and threw themselves flat 
upon the ground beyond. 

Four mounted Confederates presently dashed by at a mod- 
erate speed, and it was evident that they were keeping a 
bright lookout on either side of the way. 

“By this time every road leading out of town is 
patroled, ” said the captain. “There are many Northern 
sympathizers hereabouts who would gladly aid us, but 
unfortunately we have no means of distinguishing their 
habitations. To enter the wrong house would be to invite 


118 


SHENANDOAH. 


certain ruin. We must keep to the fields now and conceal 
ourselves in the first convenient outhouse. ’ ’ 

To be sure it was one thing to plan and another to carry 
the idea to a successful conclusion ; circumstances would 
naturally be a large factor in the result. As soon as the 
rebels were well on their way, Graham and Jimmy 
regained their feet and started across the field. They left 
this and entered an orchard, whence they emerged into 
another field which had recently been shorn of its corn. 
Here the stalks left by the sickle rendered walking rather 
troublesome. 

They passed within easy view of a large comfortable 
Virginia farmhouse; and perhaps Graham will be excused 
for envying the security and repose enjoyed by the 
occupants, for the poor fellow had not had either to any 
great extent for many a day. He was beginning to feel 
very anxious, too, for the deep blue along the eastern hori- 
zon was now showing signs of the birth of another day, 
and they were as far as ever from securing shelter. 

The warmth of an August night had been succeeded by a 
slight chill which seemed to have subdued many of the noc- 
turnal noises that haunt the country during the darkness, 
so that nature was unusually still, and the occasional crow 
of some lusty cock or the distant bark of a dog struck 
upon the fugitives’ ears with startling distinctness. 

Though the moon was directly overhead, the sky was 
growing paler each moment. An occasional light appeared 
here and there in a window of a farmhouse, showing that 
some of the help were beginning to bestir themselves. 

“Jimmy,” said Captain Graham, very seriously, “we 
can’t go on much further without, attracting notice. We 
must try that barn yonder and effect an entrance some- 
how. The prospect isn’t very encouraging, but something 
must be done, or the result will be unpleasant. ’ ’ 

They hastened their steps and soon arrived at the out- 
building in question, which was only a short distance from 


SHENANDOAH. 


119 


a rambling old farmhouse. The barn, though much the 
worse for wear, and as full of holes and crevices almost as 
a large colander, did not offer any aperture large enough 
to afford an entrance even for so small an individual as 
Jimmy. 

They looked it all over from the rear without an encour- 
aging result. 

“Dis is what I call tough luck, cap, ” said the lad. 

Graham was leaning against the building in gloomy 
reflection and did not reply. A moment later he was 
startled by the sound of footsteps, and before either could 
stir a dark shadow turned the corner and confronted 
them. 

“For de Lawd’s sake!” exclaimed the intruder, who 
appeared to be an old negro. “Who you is?” 

“Are you willing to help a Yankee?” said Graham, 
taking a sudden resolution, for as a rule the negroes of the 
South were, almost to a man, Northern sympathizers. 

“Dis yer am de Sou’ern ’Federacy, rnas’r, ” said the old 
darky cautiously. Probably he was impressed with the 
notion that his interlocutor might possibly be a spy and 
had propounded the question to test his loyalty. 

“The days of the Confederacy are about numbered, 
uncle,” said Graham. “I am a Federal officer, and 
escaped this night from the depot in Strasburg. At this 
moment troopers are beating up the neighborhood to retake 
me. I have no course but to throw myself and this lad 
upon your sympathy. The question is simply this : Will 
you give us up to the authorities, or will you hide us in 
this barn till dark?” 

“You is tellin’ de truf?” said the negro, apparently 
undecided how to act. 

“The solemn truth, uncle,” said Graham earnestly. 

“Now I suspicioned dat yous was only tryin’ de ole man 
fer ter ketch him ; but golly, ef yous is a Fed’ral ossifer 
why dis yer chile’s gwine ter help yer, shure. ” 


120 


SHENANDOAH. 


1 ‘ Then the quicker you get about it the better, uncle, for 
it’s almost broad daylight.” 

“Dat’s er fact, de sun am a-gettin’ up, fer shure. Cum 
Tong, dis chile let yer inter de barn by de back door. Den 
yous climb inter de loft whar de hay am, an’ snuggle down 
in de corner outer sight. By an’ by dis nigger cum wif pail 
• er milk, p’raps sumfin’ else,' den yous take yore breakfus’. 
S’ pose yous go ter sleep den, ’spect dat yer better keep one 
eye on de lookout fer Mas’r Morgan. Him drefful hard 
on de Yankee ebery time. ” 

The ancient negro admitted the fugitives to the barn and 
pointed out the ladder leading to the loft. 

“God bless you, uncle,” said Graham fervently, grasp- 
ing the black hand. 

“Dat’s all right, mas’r. Dis chile only too glad ter 
help Fed’ral ossifer cut um stick. Ebery nigger in de Souf 
do same t’ing w’en him git de chance. ” 

‘ ‘ I believe you, uncle. Come, Jimmy, up with you ; the 
sooner we’re stowed away the better. You must be tired 
out, lad.” 

“Don’t yous fret about me, cap; I’m in dis game ter 
stay. If yous kin stand de racket, I kin, yer bet yer 
boots. ’ ’ 

Morning grew apace. The usual sounds and activity 
about a farmyard were soon in full blast. The barn doors 
were thrown open, and the cows stalled therein overnight 
were milked and then turned out to pasture. The grain 
bins occupied one end of the loft, and the fugitives, from 
their post of concealment, saw a young negro come up and 
fill a couple of buckets, and then go down again. They 
heard a white man below moving about and cursing the 
laziness of his help every once and awhile, and they felt 
uneasy lest he, too, might come into the upper regions. 
Troubled with this thought they burrowed further under 
the hay and kept very still. 

After awhile a bell was rung from the back porch of the 



SHENANDOAH. 


121 


house which evidently gave notice that breakfast was 
ready. Ten minutes elapsed and then a step was heard on 
the ladder. The fugitives listened intently. Presently 
they heard the voice of the old negro calling to them. 

They emerged from their hiding-place. The gray-headed 
darky stood half up the trap, holding a brown jug and a 
paper package. 

“Here yer breakfus’, mas’r, fer yerself an’ de lilly boy. 
P’raps dis chile don’ get no chance ter fetch yous eny 
dinner. Berry sorry ef dat turn out so ; but den I get 
som’fin fer yer supper fer shure. Mas’r Morgan berry 
s’picious man — him done catch a Yankee so’jer ’round yer 
short time ago. Him swear dat he smell out Yank ebery 
time. Yous keep um eye skinned. Berry bad fer pore ole 
Eph if he done cotch yer. Lick um fer shure wif big black- 
snake. ’ ’ 

“We’ll look out, uncle,” said Graham, cheerfully, taking 
the jug of milk, and the package of corn cake and cold 
bacon. Returning to his retreat, he and Jimmy made a 
capital breakfast. They arranged to keep watch by turns 
and thus secure needed rest. 

Morning passed away and they were not disturbed. It 
was very close in the loft, for the sun beat down fiercely 
upon the roof, and the heat penetrated the clapboards 
with great intensity. It made both uncommonly drowsy, 
so much so that Jimmy, whose turn came to watch, was 
presently nodding in spite of himself. There was a lazy 
hum in the air that lulled one’s senses to repose, and small 
wonder is it that the boy was soon lost to all sense of his 
surroundings. 

Well along in the afternoon Vincent Morgan had 
occasion to go into the loft for a piece of harness, and 
while picking out what he wanted he fancied he heard the 
deep breathing of some one asleep. 

He listened intently and then was sure of it. His first 
conclusion was that one of his negroes had stolen up into 


122 


SHENANDOAH. 


the loft to sleep off a lazy fit, so he went downstairs to get 
his whip, a formidable-looking weapon, which it was his 
custom to lay with lusty freedom upon the unprotected 
backs of his colored property. 

Armed with this, and a malicious scowl upon his coun- 
tenance, he returned to the upper regions. Following the 
sound, which came from behind the haymow, he crept 
softly toward his victim, chuckling in anticipation of the 
“licking” he was about to inflict with all the gusto of a 
hard master. 

His astonishment may easily be imagined when he made 
the astounding discovery that awaited him. 

“Yanks, by thunder — a pair of ’em. I kalkilate one of 
my niggers been and helped ’em in here. I’ll flog ther 
hull lot till ther right un owns up, and then I’ll skin him 
alive. Dern the hull pestilential lot ! A nigger ain’t good 
for nothin’ but ter lick. I’ll call my son Jake, and I 
reckon atween ther two on us, we can give a good account 
of these cursed Yanks. I heard that one escaped from 
town last night ; mebbe this here’s the chap. I reckon I’ll 
soon find out. ’ ’ 

With this charitable resolve in view, Vincent Morgan 
stole downstairs and went in search of his son. He found 
his heir out in the peach orchard amusing himself by 
cuffing a young darky about, and then kicking him at 
intervals by way of variety. 

“Hello, dad, what’s up?” said the young man, easing 
up in his attentions toward his victim, for the old man’s 
countenance bespoke something unusual in the wind, and 
Jake, from constant association with his parent, could read 
him like a book. 

‘ ‘ Come up to ther barn. ’ ’ 

“All right, dad. Git along, you dern lazy skunk;” this 
to the negro, to whom he administered a parting kick with 
his rough cowhide boot. Then he followed his father. 

“What you want, dad?” he said, catching up with the 
old man. 


SHENANDOAH. 


123 


“I want yer ter help me cotch a couple of Yanks. M 

“Sho! Whereabouts are they?” 

“Asleep among ther hay in the barn loft.” 

“Asleep, eh? How’d they get there?” 

“I reckon one of our niggers is at ther bottom of it. 
They all hope ther Yanks ’ll win and set ’em free.” 

“I reckon they do. What sorter chaps are them two 
Yanks in ther barn, dad?” 

“One is a boy and won’t give us much trouble. The 
other looks like an officer. ’ ’ 

“Mebbe that’s the feller ther provost -marshal is lookin’ 
after. ’ ’ 

“I reckon,” said his father. 

“Then we’ll get the reward for cotchin’ him,” a 
reflection that seemed to please the young man immensely. 

By this time they had reached the barn. Taking some 
pieces of rope in hand father and son speedily made their 
way into the loft, and the first thing the sleepers knew was 
that they were in the hands of the Philistines. 


124 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

IN WHICH THE ENEMY IS OUTWITTED. 

“How do yer feel, Yank?” said Farmer Morgan, after 
he had secured Captain Graham’s hands behind his back. 

“I can’t say that I’m delighted with this new turn of 
affairs, ’ ’ said Graham pleasantly, feeling bound to make 
the best of a .bad situation, and not caring to permit his 
enemy to see how deeply chagrined he was. 

“Yer made a mistake when yer came into this barn,” 
grinned Vincent Morgan. 

“I’m afraid I did,” said the officer. 

“How long yer been here?” said the farmer. 

‘ * Since morning. ’ ’ 

“Since mornin’ eh? Yer couldn’t hey got such a snug 
place without help. Which of my niggers has been a-hid- 
in’ you?” 

“How do you know but we hid ourselves?” said Graham. 

“I know yer didn’t.” 

“You seem pretty positive about it.” 

“I reckon I do, stranger. Yer ain’t ther first Yank I’ve 
found hid in this yer barn ; but I calkilate if I can help it 
yer ’ll be ther last. If you’ll agree ter p’int out ther nigger 
by and by, I’ll take yer into ther house ter supper before 
I turn yer over ter ther provost-marshal. ” 

“I decline to do any such thing, ” said Graham decidedly. 

“Then I’ll flog ther lot of ’em afore yer eyes,” answered 
Vincent Morgan angrily. 

“That would be a shame,” said the officer indignantly. 

“Look here, stranger, yer don’t know nothin’ about it. 


SHENANDOAH. 


125 


A nigger is made ter work. He won’t do it ’less yer lick 
him. He’s that all-fired lazy thet if yer left him alone fer 
awhile he’d take root. I paid good hard cash down fer my 
niggers, and most of ’em was carried off by the Yankee 
army. I reckon I don’t intend ter make ornaments of 
what’s left of ’em. ” 

‘ ‘ I have a different opinion of the negro — but it is useless 
for us to argue the matter. What are you going to do with 
us?” 

“Turn yer over ter ther authorities. What else should I 
do with a derned skunk of a Yank?” 

“I suppose you’ll give us something to eat before giving 
us up,” said Graham, in a resigned tone. 

“I reckon I ain’t obliged ter,” said Vincent Morgan. 

“No, your’re not; but common humanity ought to 
suggest ” 

“Don’t deal in ther article. I told yer if yer’d p’int out 
ther nigger that helped yer, I’d give yer supper. It’s 
more’n yer deserve; but a bargain’s a bargain, ana I’ll 
stand by my end, if yer agree ter ther terms. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I refuse to consider any such proposition, ’ ’ exclaimed 
Graham hotly. 

“You do?” 

‘ ‘ Most decidedly. ’ ’ 

“Then there ain’t no more use wastin’ words. Jake l” 

“Well, dad.” 

“You jest run inter town and tell the provost-marshal 
I’ve cotched a couple of Yanks— a big and a little ’un — and 
come back as soon as yer can. ’ ’ 

“All right, dad.” 

Jake, leaving the diminutive Jimmy bound hand and 
foot in a very uncomfortable position in the hay, went 
downstairs and out into the adjoining pasture, where he 
caught a young mare and brought her up to the barn. It 
took him but a few minutes to saddle the horse, and mount- 
ing her he went off toward town at a brisk gallop. 


126 


SHENANDOAH. 


Morgan pere, thinking it well to be on the safe side, 
picked up a hay fork and mounted guard over his 
prisoners. 

Captain Graham was deeply mortified over the unfortunate 
turn of affairs. He felt that fortune, whch ought to have 
befriended them, had proved very fickle indeed. It was too 
bad that after Jimmy’s clever ruse all was to end in a 
miserable failure. 

The elder Morgan was uncommunicative. The declining 
sun shot a ray through a big knothole and flushed the 
farmer’s sun-browned visage, heightening the grim look of 
satisfaction that settled about the corners of the mouth. 
He gave Jimmy very little attention, which want of respect 
our young hero resented by turning his back and curling 
himself all up into a heap. 

Jake had tied Jimmy’s hands in front, using the continu- 
ation of the rope to secure his legs. For a temporary means 
of securing his prisoner it was well enough ; but as the lad 
saw that the farmer was not much interested in him, he 
bethought himself to try the strength of his fastenings. 
Within five minutes he found he could draw out one of 
his thin little hands. This maneuver loosed the rope about 
the other, and a couple of cautious wriggles assured him 
that very little exertion was needed to completely free him- 
self. Then he lay very still for some time, cogitating upon 
the situation, occasionally watching the enemy out of the 
corners of his bright eyes. 

Half an hour passed away and Vincent Morgan showed 
no disposition of moving from the position he had first 
assumed. About the only sound that broke the stillness 
was the cackling of the hens in the yard outside. Pres- 
ently some one entered the barn, and soon a footstep was 
heard on the ladder. 

The farmer turned partly around so that he could com- 
mand the open trap. A gray woolly head was slowly 
thrust through the opening. It was old Epli, who, fancy- 


SHENANDOAH. 


127 


in g the coast clear, had come to visit the fugitives,. He 
carried a small basket, pretty well filled with cold victuals, 
which, being a trusted house servant, he had had no diffi- 
culty in obtaining from the pantry. 

When his eyes encountered his master’s gaze, and his 
startled senses took in the situation, his optics expanded to 
the size of great white saucers, so to speak. Fright kept 
him rooted to the spot. 

“Eph, yer black scoundrel, I’ve cotchedyer, hev I?” said 
the farmer, his lips breaking into a vindictive, hyena-like 
smile. 

Not a sign from the darky, only that intense scared look. 
Had it been a physical possibility, no doubt his wool would 
have stood on end, so great was his terror. 

Too well the aged negro knew what was in store for him. 
A vision of the tingling ends of the cruel blacksnake whip 
danced before his imagination. There was not the faintest 
loophole by which he could squeeze out of the responsibility 
his kind old heart had assumed toward the fugitives. 

Captain Graham felt sorry for him, and was about to 
offer some excuse, in the hope of palliating his offense, 
when Master Jimmy, who had seized upon this bit of 
diversion as the moment for action, changed the whole 
aspect of affairs by jumping to his feet, shaking off the 
rope, and before Vincent Morgan had any idea of what was 
coming, precipitated himself like a young avalanche upon 
the enemy. 

Over went the wiry agriculturalist as though he had been 
shot. Jimmy grabbed the formidable hay fork, and made 
such an alarming demonstration with the prongs that the 
farmer shrunk into a heap and lay quivering with appre- 
hension. 

“If yous don’t be quiet, I’ll run yous t’rough, ’’ said the 
lad, jabbing the points within an inch of the old man’s 
face. 

Vincent Morgan was not a coward, but his situation was 


128 


SHENANDOAH. 


sush as to impress upon his understanding that discretion 
was as that moment the better part of valor. 

“Come here, cap,” said Jimmy. 

Captain Graham got on his feet and advanced. 

‘ ‘ Just yous straddle dat elderly infant and keep him quiet 
while I loose dat rope about yer wrists. ’ ’ 

Graham acted upon the suggestion, and Jimmy, after 
pinning one of the farmer’s legs by driving the fork around 
it into the floor, turned his attention to freeing his friend 
and companion, which we need scacrely say was the work 
of but a few minutes. 

“Golly,” muttered old Eph, “de tables am turned fer 
shure. ’ ’ 

“Here’s de rope, cap, just give de old duff some’r his 
own sauce. I’ll tie his feet so dat he’d find it hard ter chase 
a turtle. ’ ’ 

In a very brief space of time Vincent Morgan was placed 
completely hors de combat. The fugitives propped him 
against the haymow ; and Jimmy, having an eye to the 
main chance, relieved old Eph of his basket of provender, 
and suggested to the captain, that, as a rapid change of 
base was now made a necessity, it would be a wise move to 
refresh the inner citadel, with expedition, before leaving 
their retreat. 

As it is part of the tactics of a wise general always to 
keep his forces in condition, Graham took the hint, and 
the pair attacked the viands with appetites sharpened by a 
long fast, while the rebel farmer filled their ears with a 
choice vocabulary of expletives such as Webster never even 
dreamed of. 

He called upon Eph to help him ; but Jimmy, after wink- 
ing at the old darky, macTe a hostile movement with the 
fork, at the same time assuring the colored individual that 
he’d just as soon “spiflicate” him as not. 

“Fore de Lawd, Mas’r Morgan, I’s a gone coon ef I move 
a lilly bit. ’ ’ 


SHENANDOAH 


m 


It was a beautiful bluff, but whether or not the enraged 
farmer saw through it, we are not prepared to say. 

Having in a measure appeased their appetites, Captain 
Graham and Jimmy put the balance of the food into their 
pockets, and with the utmost coolness prepared to depart. 
Eph dropped out of sight when the lad made a playful 
lunge at him with the fork. 

Vincent Morgan hurled a fearful anathema after the fugi- 
tives ; but as curses, like the boomerangs of the south seas, 
usually return whence they come, the captain and his 
young ally were in no way affected by the blessing. 

Captain Graham questioned Eph downstairs as to the 
safest route for effecting their retreat, and learned that 
about three miles further on, the old man indicating the 
direction, lived a family who were secretly friendly to the 
Union cause. 

“Yous berrermake tracks fur dat yer place, Mas’r Ossifer. 
’Pears ter dis nigger dat am de best t’ing yer kin do. 
Mas’r Slocum powerful nice gen’l’man, and Mist’s Slocum 
berry nice lady. ’Clar ter goodness, I s’pect dey do mos’ 
enyt’ing fur yer. Ef dem sojer debils smell de lilly end of 
de rat’s tail, an’ t’ink dey peek inter all of Mas’r Slocum’s 
cubboards fur yer, I t’ink um ffnd lilly spot ter hide yer. ” 

“I’m sorry, uncle, you’re got into trouble through us,” 
said Graham. 

“Don’t yer t’ink ’bout dat. Dis pore ignorant nigger 
powerful glad ter help yer. Ef Mas’r Morgan skin um 
brack t’aint de fust time dat he done dat, fur shure. He 
berry hard man — de debil done cotch him one of dese yer 
days. ’ ’ 

Graham and Jimmy were about to step out of the barn 
when Jake Morgan and three mounted Confederate cavalry- 
men dashed into the yard and cut off their contemplated 
move. 


130 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

UNDER A FRIENDLY ROOF. 

“Golly,” exclaimed old Eph, aghast, “ ’pears ter dis yer 
chile dat de day ob tribberlation am at hand. Dat young 
debil Jake brung de Philistines ’pon yous shure. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ This is unfortunate indeed, ’ ’ said Graham. 

“Berry bad, dat’s a fac’ ; but yous berrer hide behind um 
door, den when de sojers go up inter dat yer loft p’haps old 
Eph spring um lilly trick. ’ ’ 

As there was no time to lose, Graham and Jimmy 
squeezed themselves out of sight just as Jake Morgan and 
two of the cavalrymen entered the barn. 

Eph was innocently untying a piece of stout rope from a 
ring in one of the stalls, and no notice was taken of him. 
He ascended the ladder in the rear of the troopers. 

Jake uttered a cry of surprise when he stepped into the 
loft and perceived the situation of the old man. By the 
time he reached the side of his discomfited parent the 
soldiers were close at his heels. 

Old Eph, however, paused on the last step and reaching 
up deftly seized the ring of the trap, pulled it over and 
softly let it down. Then he tied one end of the rope to the 
ring and hauling it taut secured the other end to the 
stationary ladder. As there was no other way of getting 
out of the loft, the old negro was master of the situation. 

“Mas’r Ossifer, ” he said, coming down and calling to 
Graham, “dey done cotched in um trap fur a lilly while. 
I’se a-gwine out doors ter send in dat odder Philistine dat 
am holdin’ dem hosses. He walk in bery un’spicious, den 


SHENANDOAH. 


131 

yous cotch him, ’fore he kin say Jack Robberson, tie him 
hand behind urn back, take urn pistols, den bery easy ter 
take um hosses an’ ride like de ole debbil. ’Speck dat dis 
chile berrer g’long, if he want ter sabe um skin. ” 

It was a neat plan, and it worked to a charm. The 
soldier fell into the snare, and was soon lying bound and 
gagged in one of the stalls. 

By this time the party up in the loft had discovered 
their predicament and were raising a perfect pande- 
monium. The trap, of course, evaded their utmost en- 
deavors to pull it open, and the language indulged in, 
choice specimens of which floated down through chinks in 
the floor, was decidedly unparliamentary. 

Captain Graham was satisfied to let them solve the riddle 
of their confinement. He and Jimmy hastened outside, 
where they found old Eph already mounted and holding by 
the bridles two very fair specimens of horseflesh. 

The fugitives got into the saddle, and the trio trotted 
briskly out of the yard. Once on the road the animals were 
put to a gallop. Poor Jimmy was unused to this kind of 
transportation, and his legs being much too short to reach 
the stirrups, he dug his knees into his charger’s sides, and 
hung on to the pommel of the saddle like grim death. To 
add to his plight the mare he rode was the faster of the 
three and consequently took the lead. Away he went like a 
diminutive edition of John Gilpin. Captain Graham 
laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, so ludicrous was 
the picture presented by the lad. 

It was now close on to sundown. In their rear the town 
of Strasburg could be seen in flying glimpses through the 
trees, the windows of the taller houses and the spire of the 
principal church aflame with the sun’s last rays. The 
country roundabout looked quiet and peaceful, with 
scarcely a hint to show that war’s, devastating touch was 
upon the Valley. 

The fugitives covered four miles in quick time. As they 


132 


SHENANDOAH. 


approached the Slocum homestead, Captain Graham spurred 
his horse to top speed in an effort to head off Jimmy. He 
succeeded in grasping the bridle of the mare just as the 
party reached the gate leading into the lane by which they 
were to turn off the road. 

Passing through the gateway they trotted up to the farm- 
house, which was quite hidden behind a growth of poplars. 
They dismounted before the piazza, where they were pres- 
ently greeted by the entire Slocum family, who rose from 
the supper-table in a body, not a little alarmed by this 
unexpected descent upon their property. 

Matters were quickly explained by Captain Graham, 
whose request that his party be accorded the hospitality of 
the premises for a few hours was most cheerfully acceded 
to by this excellent family. 

Mr Slocum insisted that Graham and Master Jimmy 
should join them at supper. He sent old Eph, who was well 
known to him, into the kitchen, and Dinah, the cook, was 
directed to attend to his wants. All the colored men were 
summoned from the “quarters.” The horses were led 
away and concealed in a quiet nook at a distance fr6m the 
house ; while pickets were stationed to cover every avenue 
of approach. 

Darkness had covered the landscape when the host joined 
his guests at the table. Captain Graham was treated with 
marked consideration, while Jimmy, of course, was not 
neglected. The officer gave a brief review of his adventures 
since leaving Richmond, omitting, of course, all reference 
to his private affairs, especially any connection with the 
Anderson homestead. 

That his auditors were deeply interested in the thrilling 
recital, as well as much concerned for his present safety 
and subsequent movements, goes without saying. 

Miss Slocum, in particular, found the young and hand- 
some Union officer an object for admiration. Young 
ladies who are removed from society’s giddy whirl are 


•SHENANDOAH. 


133 


generally easily impressed with a strange face, if it be even 
ordinarily attractive ; how much more so when the new- 
comer is gifted with all the natural graces that form a 
magnet for woman’s eye. 

Such was the dangerous predicament the daughter of the 
Slocum household found suddenly thrust upon her. In her 
eyes Captain Graham was a paragon of a man ; and to cap 
the climax he was a hero. Small wonder then if she cast 
covert glances in his direction, and hung upon the musical 
tones of his voice to the great detriment of her appetite. 

“You seem to have had very hard luck, Captain 
Graham,” said Mr. Slocum, who had paid great attention 
to the officer’s narrative. “Why, General Sheridan’s pick- 
ets occupied the town of Strasburg while you were in that 
barn, and for a day or so you were actually within his lines 
without apparently being cognizant of the fact. ’ ’ 

“I was otherwise informed at the time,” said Graham, 
in some surprise. “The man who was taking care of me 
assured me that the Union advance never got nearer than 
Hupp’s Hill.” 

“You were certainly deceived then, as the facts are just 
as I have stated. ’ ’ 

“It is very strange,” said Graham. “I cannot compre- 
hend what object this man Sikes had for misleading me. ’ ’ 

“It does look singular that, after taking grave chances by 
hiding you from the rebel authorities, thus placing himself 
in the dangerous light of a Northern sympathizer, he should, 
when an easy chance offered, keep you from rejoining the 
Federal ranks. ’ ’ 

“Well,” replied Captain Graham, “it is quite useless 
now to form any conjecture on the subject ; if this Sikes had 
in view any purpose affecting me, my recapture by the 
Confederate authorities of Strasburg must have nipped it in 
the bud. One thing, however, in this connection might 
seem rather significant — the man disappeared on the very 
night I fell into the enemy’s hands,” 


134 


SHENANDOAH. 


“Indeed. While of course I could not venture an 
opinion, still I think the fact you have just mentioned, 
taken in connection with the previous circumstance, 
throws a doubt upon the disinterested character of the 
man’s services. ’’ 

‘ ‘ It certainly looks that way ; however, discussion on our 
part will throw little light on the matter. Let us change 
the subject. I presume you have followed in outline the 
course of the Rebellion. I will take it as a favor if you 
will enlighten me upon the current state of affairs, for I 
regret that I am lamentably ignorant on a subject in which 
I take a vital interest. The most stirring incidents of the 
war have reached me only through companionship with the 
prisoners brought into Libby prison. ” 

“Your case is certainly a most extraordinary one. You 
ought to have been exchanged long ago,” said Mr. 
Slocum. ” 

Undoubtedly ] but I think such a happy relief was 
defeated by the governor of the prison, abetted by other 
influences. I incurred this man’s enmity soon after I came 
within his authority. I remember I was frequently placed 
in solitary confinement for weeks without any apparent 
reason. I am aware that a report of my death was forwarded 
to the War Department at Washington. Through fellow 
prisoners, subsequently released, I endeavored to have this 
mistake rectified, and my condition brought to the atten- 
tion of President Lincoln. My hopes certainly have never 
been realized. I now believe, from recent developments, 
that some very powerful influences have been used to 
thwart my prospects. ’ ’ 

“You astonish me. It certainly must be a very bitter 
enemy indeed who would connive to lengthen your im- 
prisonment. ’ ’ 

“Yes,” said Graham, “it would seem so.” 

His thoughts instinctively reverted to Colonel Anderson, 
as the one person who, he conceived, had an interest in 


SHENANDOAH. 


135 


keeping him in the background. That was the inference 
he had already drawn from the colonel’s dogged persistence 
in charging him with the commission of that murderous 
assault. 

The family and their guests adjourned to the parlor, where 
Mr. Slocum entered into a general review of the various 
campaigns and successes of the Union armies during the 
three and one-half years of the conflict still in progress, but 
evidently nearing its righteous conclusion. 

“And now,” said Mr. Slocum, “1 feel confident that 
within six months secession will be driven into its last 
ditch, and there be extinguished forever. Indeed, the next 
few weeks will develop most important results. With 
Sheridan right here in the Valley, the loyal residents have 
every hope that this beautiful bit of nature’s domain will 
soon be purged of the rebel hosts. We are certainly on the 
eve of some of the most decisive events of this war. The 
news of a great victory may reach us at any moment. It is 
true I know many people who, in their impatience for im- 
mediate results, are criticising Sheridan for what they term 
his vacillating movements ; but believe me, Captain Gra- 
ham, ‘Little Phil,’ as he is called, is not asleep, by any 
means. Behind his apparent inactivity lies some deep and 
well-digested purpose that will in time be as plain as day- 
light to those who now decry him. When he does move 
aggressively upon the enemy, it will be with a force as 
resistless as an avalanche, and Early will be swept before 
it like a ship in the center of a hurricane. ’ ’ 

“Where is Sheridan now?” asked Captain Graham. 

“At Harper’s Ferry and Halltown. Early made several 
demonstrations against the latter place, but found it im- 
pregnable. It is impossible for him to turn the Union 
flanks, as they are protected by the Potomac river. He dare 
not invade the North again, since there are three divisions 
of cavalry on the lookout for any such attempt. Early will 
probably move back to his old position at Bunker Hill— if 
he has not already done so, ’ ’ 


136 


SHENANDOAH. 


“How do you manage to keep so well informed?” 

“I go into town nearly every day, and manage to drop 
into one or the other public headquarters, where the latest 
news is always on tap. I was born on this farm, and have 
lived in the neighborhood all my life. Major Truepenny, 
the provost-marshal, is a particular friend of mine. Offi- 
cially I am looked upon as a Southern sympathizer, though 
I have on several occasions been denounced by so-called 
friends, whose desire to injure me is apparent. My most 
persistent detractor is Vincent Morgan, my nearest neigh- 
bor, on whom you very neatly turned the tables this after- 
noon. As he has strong, suspicions that I aided more than 
one man to escape northward, I am surprised that some of 
the soldiers now on the lookout for you have not paid me a 
visit. ” 

Mr. Slocum had hardly uttered the words before one of 
the negroes who had been on picket duty rushed into the 
room and announced that Mas’r Morgan and six mounted 
troopers were coming up the lane in front. 


SHENANDOAH. 


137 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN WHICH IS PLAYED THE GAME OF HIDE AND SEEK. 

“Talk of the devil and he’s sure to appear,” said Mr. 
Slocum, rising. “The house is bound to be searched, and 
you must not be found here. In the cellar is a drain in 
which you might defy detection ; but Farmer Morgan will 
be sure to investigate that place first of all. Come with me 
— there is no time to lose. Outside I can take you to a re- 
treat where I am sure you will be absolutely secure from 
recapture. ’ ’ 

Mr. Slocum and his guests went out by the back way. 
They heard the dull trot of the horsemen, now almost at the 
head of the lane, and the jingle of military accouterments. 
The night was clear and the sky resplendent with stars ; 
but, once beyond the yard and immediate outhouses, the 
fugitives and their warm-hearted guide were soon lost to 
view in the apple orchard. 

Beyond the orchard the party struck diagonally across a 
pasture which descended in a gentle declivity to a small bit 
of woods divided by a gulley, through which a small 
stream of water gurgled among the stones and brush. 

Upon a knoll, within a stone’s throw of the streamlet, 
stood the remains of a gigantic oak tree. It had been 
struck by lightning years before, and a large part of the 
outside bark stripped off as clean as a whistle. The 
denuded trunk was bleached to a yellowish white, that now, 
in the semi -gloom of the wood, gave the mighty ruin a 
spectral appearance. With its two great branches extended 
in hoary decrepitude, it looked like a ghostly friar bestow- 


138 


SHENANDOAH. 


ing a solemn benediction. The interior of the trunk was 
hollow, and sufficiently large to hold two average-sized 
men. The secret of the old oak, however, was known to but 
few on the farm. 

This was the hiding-place selected by Mr. Slocum, and it 
was well chosen. The fugitives were made acquainted with 
the recess within this stupendous relic of nature’s handi- 
work. They clambered up the gnarled trunk, and by turn 
dropped into the cavity. Mr. Slocum then retraced his 
steps. 

He found four troopers on guard outside the house, and 
the search within in full swing. The moving spirit was 
evidently old man Morgan, who assisted the officer in 
charge with such suggestions as his intimate knowledge of 
the premises enabled him to advance. The rebel farmer 
looked as surly as a disgruntled bear, for he was nursing the 
recollection of his mortifying experience in the loft of his 
own barn. 

Mr. Slocum on entering the hall from the back stoop met 
the search party as they descended from an unsuccessful 
inspection of the upper regions. 

The officer paused and apologized to Mr. Slocum, whom 
he knew, for the unpleasant duty forced upon him in his 
official capacity. 

“Major Truepenny desired me to say that he regrets the 
necessity of this intrusion, rendered imperative by the in- 
formation sent to him ; but he feels sure it will only re- 
dound to your advantage, as your loyalty is not in question. 

“Present my compliments to Major Truepenny, and say 
that I am not in the least disturbed by your visit, which in 
times like these one may not hope to be entirely exempt 
from. You will do me a favor by prosecuting your investi- 
gations in tne most thorough manner, since I have no fear 
that you will find anything to raise the breath of suspicion 
against me or mine. I have no need to inquire to whom I 
am indebted for this incursion upon my privacy, ’ ’ contin- 


SHENANDOAH. 


lo9 


ued the loyal farmer sarcastically, without even a glance at 
his neighbor Vincent Morgan ; “it is not the first time this 
officious person has endeavored to entangle me with the 
authorities. ’ ’ 

The search was continued, and then the party left the 
house and subjected each of the out-buildings to the same 
inquisitorial inspection. The officer stationed his men on 
the outside in such positions as would cover any attempt on 
the part of any person concealed inside from escaping 
unnoticed, by any aperture available, while the search was 
going forward within. 

Of course the quest was without result. Orders were 
then issued to beat up the orchard and outlying fields. 
Finally the party reached the wood down in the hollow and 
spent sometime in this locality. 

The officer had about decided to give up the job in hand, 
when one of the troopers gave a great shout. He had run 
across a great pile of brush stacked against a row of trees, 
and penetrating to the interior had discovered the three 
horses that had been so cleverly hidden away. 

This revelation had a wonderfully reviving effect upon the 
detachment of searchers. 

“What did I tell yer, sergeant, ” said Vincent Morgan, 
rubbing his weather-tanned hands in glee; “they’re hidden 
yere ’bouts, fer a fact. ’ ’ 

“I believe that; but it doesn’t prove that Mr. Slocum is 
a party to their concealment,” said the subaltern. 

“Doesn’t, eh? How cum that pile of brush about them 
yere hosses? D’ye think one man and a boy could do 
that?” 

“Why not? They’ve had time enough to do it, I should 
think. ’ ’ 

“I don’t believe it,” said Morgan. 

“I have nothing to do with your belief, one way or 
another. My orders are to find the fugitives if I can, and 
that is what I propose to do, if possible. ’ ’ 


140 


SHENANDOAH. 


“I shall call yer as a witness before ther provost-marshal 
as ter ther manner of findin’ ther hosses. That yer Slocum 
is a sham and a traitor. I always know’d it. ” 

‘ ‘ I shall make my report without asking any assistance of 
you, sir, ’ ’ retorted the sergeant stithy. 

Vincent Morgan was mad, but prudence compelled him to 
bridle his tongue. The soldiers spread themselves through 
the wood again. They climbed many of the trees whose 
leafy crowns suggested places of concealment, and tired 
their carbines repeatedly. 

A good hour was spent in this exhilarating manner. It 
was now midnight, and the belated moon had risen over 
the mountain tops to second their movements. 

If the Shenandoah Valley is grand by day, by moonlight 
it is simply beyond compare. All the glorious tints of this 
garden of America are toned down to a mellow softness that 
reminds one of the visionary beauties of Paradise. And 
yet, in the words of a well-known military historian, 
“What a story of marchings and countermarchings the soil 
of the lower Valley might tell ! What a history is that of 
its villages from 1861 to 1865— now in Secession and anon in 
Union keeping; sometimes sheltering ‘Yanks’ at dawn, 
swarming with ‘Rebs’ at noon, and again sleeping under 
the stars and stripes at night.” Even as Eden was 
invaded by the serpent, so was this modern Eden violated 
by the furies with sword and torch, so that it was truly 
said that “the Valley turnpike had come to be known as 
the racecourse of armies.” 

Vincent Morgan and the sergeant at length came together 
again by the spreading roots of the old oak ruin already 
described. 

“There must be a hundred sheltering nooks in this 
wood, ’ ’ said the tired subaltern, ’ ’ especially at night ; and 
yet I think we have scoured the place pretty thoroughly. ’ ’ 

“Yes,” growled the disappointed farmer, “there are— 
dern it! I wouldn’t miss cotchin’ that yere sojer and my 


SHENANDOAH. 


141 


nigger Eph fer a pile. It’s a mighty big score I’ve got 
ag’in ther Yanks as ’tis. Dern em ! they’ve carried off my 
stock, they’ve stolen away half my niggers. I tell yer I’m 
a ruined man. I’d like ter see ther hull Yankee nation at 
perdition !” 

The sergeant, however, was more philosophical, probably 
not having experienced such personal despoliation. 

“I guess I’m as eager as yourself to lay hands on the 
Yankee officer — his capture is of the utmost importance to 
the provost-marshal — but if I fail, it won’t be my fault, 
and I shan’t sit down and cry over it. ” 

“This yer old trunk would make a capital snuggery if it 
was holler, ’ ’ said Morgan, laying his hand upon the blasted 
oak. 

“By George, it would that!” said the sergeant. Then as 
if struck by the idea, “How can we know that it isn’t 
hollow ?’ ’ 

“Sound it and see fer yerself , ” responded the farmer 
sulkily, for his own suggestion didn’t inspire him with 
any pleasurable anticipation that his words might come 
true. 

The subaltern drew his sword and struck the trunk of the 
tree with the back of the weapon. 

“It sounds solid enough I should say, ’’lie remarked. 
“However, it’s just as well to make sure of the thing.” 

With that he clambered up the side of the old oak. Upon 
reaching the fork at the top he was amazed beyond expres- 
sion when he found the wide opening that clearly indicated 
the nature of the interior. 

“Well, old man,” he said to Vincent Morgan, who had 
watched his upward progress with indifference. “You 
must have the gift of second sight without knowing it. 
There’s a hole here sure enough, and the tree is as hollow 
as a pipe stem. ’ ’ 

“What!” almost screamed the farmer, “yer jokin’ ain’t 
yer?” 


142 


SHENANDOAH. 


‘‘I’m not in the humor for joking. There’s a hole here 
wide enough to admit an ordinary man. ’ ’ 

“Are they there?’’ cried Vincent Morgan excitedly. 

“That’s impossible for me to say. It’s as dark inside as 
the entrance to Hades. If they’re here I’ll have them out 
in no time, ’ ’ said the sergeant, drawing his revolver and 
cocking it. “Hullo down there!’’ he shouted into the tree. 

There was no reply. 

“Look here, Yank, I’ll give you a minute to answer, then 
I’ll fire down. ’ ’ 

This threat was evidently no idle one, but the silence 
continued unbroken. The subaltern pulled the trigger. 
There was a flash, that for an instant lit up the interior of 
the old oak, and a report. 

“Sold!’’ exclaimed the sergeant, half -provoked. 

“Ain’t they in there?” said Vincent Morgan anxiously. 

“No,” said the non-commissioned officer shortly. 

“Are you sure?” said the farmer. 

‘ ‘ I guess I am. The pistol flash showed the inside to be 
perfectly empty. ’ ’ 

He descended, and now quite satisfied that the fugitives 
were not to be unearthed that night, he called his men 
together, and, taking the horses, they retraced their steps 
toward the road. One man, however, by preconcerted 
arrangement, remained behind on watch. He seated him- 
self on the ground in the shadow cast by the dense foliage, 
his back against a hollow stump not many yards from the 
dead oak, and his rifle across his knees ready for instant 
emergency. 

The moonlight, sifting through the branches, fell aslant 
the blasted tree and made it, if anything, more ghostly than 
ever. The soldier, however, was a practical fellow, who 
never troubled himself with the supernatural. He was on 
special duty, and all his senses were on the alert. 

Suddenly he heard a curious muffled scraping sound 
behind him. It seemed to come out of the stump. Some 


SHENANDOAH. 


143 


animal — a rabbit perhaps — was evidently burrowing in the 
roots. The sound continued, but he gave it no further 
attention. 

In a moment or two something rose out of the stump, like 
a stage genii coming slowly up a trap. It put a pair of 
white hands upon the rim of its prison house to assist its 
exit. 

Then the rebel soldier, impelled by an indefinable sensa- 
tion that he was not alone, turned his head around, and 
what he saw caused him to spring to his feet. 

The apparition was also startled, but still was quick 
enough to grasp the situation ; for as the soldier was in the 
act of leveling his gun, it drew and presented a revolver 
full at the fellow’s breast. 

“Another move, my man,” said the voice of Captain 
Graham, ‘ * and it will be your last. ’ ’ 


144 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER XX. 

IN WHICH A SOUTHERN MATRON RENDERS GREAT ASSISTANCE 
TO THE ENEMY. 

4 ‘You have the drop on me, Yank,” said the rebel 
reluctantly. 

“I think I have,” said Graham. 

“You’re mighty handy with your weapon,” continued 
the man, evidently casting his thoughts about in search of 
some expedient to extricate himself from his tight fix. 

“You’ll find that I am unless you drop your gun before I 
count three. ’ ’ 

“You mean to shoot if I don’t, eh?” 

* ‘ It will be your own fault if I am compelled to do so, ’ ’ 
said the captain sternly. 

“It won’t do you any good,” said the soldier defiantly. 
“That remains to be seen. It’s simply a question of your 
life or my liberty. I do not intend to be taken. ’ ’ 

“If you shoot you ’ll bring the sergeant down here at once. 
He ain’t far away,” said the soldier craftily. 

“I expect to take that risk. Now then — one !” 

The rebel held his attitude stubbornly. 

“Two!” 

This time sharp and decisive like a word of command. 
The soldier hesitated ; he perceived that the Yankee officer 
was determined on his course of action. 

“Three !” 

“Hold on !” said the soldier quickly. “I give in. ” 

He threw down his carbine. 

“You are sensible,” said Graham; “another instant and 


SHENANDOAH. 


145 


I would have fired. I had no alternative, and should have 
regretted the necessity. Now then, retire three paces — 
march !” 

The cavalryman obeyed the order with military precision. 

Graham lowered his revolver so that he might use both 
hands as a purchase to withdraw himself from the stump. 

“Jimmy,” he called down into the opening. 

“I’m here, cap. ” 

‘ ‘ Come out. ’ ’ 

The drummer-boy made his appearance in a twinkling. 

“Take away that fellow’s revolver.” 

Jimmy marched up to the soldier and cooley possessed 
himself of the weapon. 

‘ 4 Take his belt off and tie his elbows back. * ’ 

This was speedily accomplished. 

“Now then,” said Graham, “march up to that stump,” 

The rebel obeyed. 

‘ 4 Get in there. ’ ’ 

The soldier, with some assistance from Jimmy, reluc- 
tantly put his legs in the hole, and shot down into the 
earth up to h4s armpits. 

“You are safe there until your comrades come after you,” 
said Graham. 

“You have called the turn on me,” said the soldier, “but 
you’ll find it hard to escape. Every road for miles around 
is patroled. ” 

He said this with a wicked grin. 

‘ ‘ I am accustomed now to desperate chances, my man. ’ ’ 

“Look here, Yank, they say you escaped from Libby. ” 

“Perhaps I did. I have no time to argue the matter 
with you. ” 

“Hold on. You’re the man that tried to kill Colonel 
Anderson. How did you get that rope by which you escaped 
from the provost -marshal’s depot?” 

4 4 That is a matter for the authorities to find out. ’ ’ 

4 4 Your escape is the talk of the town. You’re bound to 
be caught if we have to follow you to the Potomac. ’ ’ 


146 


SHENANDOAH. 


‘ ‘ I wish to ask you one question, ’ ’ said Graham. 

“All right, Yank.” 

‘ ‘ The sentry in the court— what was done with him V ’ 

“You are anxious to know, eh?” 

“I am.” 

“Why?” 

‘ ‘ Because I fear he has been severely punished. ’ 1 

“You are right. ” 

“Well.” 

‘ ‘ He was shot . 9 ’ 

“I am sorry, very sorry for the poor fellow. He was 
drugged in order to prevent his interference with our plan 
of escape. ’ ’ 

“Who drugged him?” 

“ This lad. ” 

“He was found in a beastly state of intoxication on post. 
He met the fate he deserved. ’ ’ 

“Come, Jimmy,” said Captain Graham, “we have no 
time to lose. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I wish you luck, ’ ’ said the soldier sarcastically. 

In a short time the officer and his companion were beyond 
the boundary of the Slocum farm. 

“Dat ere burrow between de tree and de stump was de 
only t’ing dat saved us, cap,” said the lad, grinning. 

“It was truly providential. It looks as though heaven 
has ordained our escape,” said the captain, taking hope 
from the reflection. 

“Yep,” acquiesced Jimmy, without exactly comprehend- 
ing the reverential allusion. 

They went on in silence, crossing field and pasture; 
plunging through a bit of woods or an orchard, always 
keeping as straight a course as possible for the mountains, 
that lay dim and shadowy in the moonlight, at some dis- 
tance. 

When morning overtook them, the fugitives sought refuge 
in a small disused hut at the extremity of a shabby-looking 


SHENANDOAH. 


147 


truck patch. Here they remained the long September day, 
alternately sleeping and keeping watch. 

They were not molested. The only human being they 
saw was a young woman in a sunbonnet who came out and 
dug up some kind of vegetable for the farmhouse which 
could just be distinguished through the trees. 

When the sun went down the only thing that bothered 
the captain and his young friend was an acute sense of 
hunger. Their stomachs were in a state of revolt after a 
twenty-hour fast, for a healthy appetite always bristles 
with constant reminders. 

“S’pose dat dis chicken goes out on a foraging expedi- 
tion, cap. I kinder guess I kin bamboozle dem women 
folks inter givin’ me somet’ing dat ’ll carry us over fur de 
night — see !” 

“I think you may venture, Jimmy; but be very careful. 
It were better to go hungry than take any chances now. ’ ’ 

“Don’t yous worry, cap. I’ll get de fodder somehow, 
widout gettin’ inter a mare’s nest. I s’pect dat me stum- 
mick is me weak p’int. I don’t mind most anyt’ing else if 
I’m fed. So long, and lay low till I come back. ’’ 

In ten minutes Jimmy burst into the hut in high glee. 

“Come on, cap. We’ve struck the greatest snap yer ever 
seed in yer born life. ’ ’ 

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Captain Graham, very 
much surprised at his ebullition of feeling. 

“Dat’s w’ere I’m mum; I want ter s’ prise yer. Foller 
me if yer want ter sit down ter a reg’lar banquet. ” 

Graham had implicit faith in Jimmy. Something extra- 
ordinary must have happened to wreathe the drummer- 
boy’s face in that succession of grins that chased one 
another across his countenance and threatened to dislocate 
his already very large mouth. 

So the officer followed his guide up to the farmhouse, 
which was a very unpretentious-looking affair, somewhat 
out -at- the -elbows, so to speak, and anything but like a place 


148 


SHENANDOAH. 


where one might expect to feed upon the fat of the 
land. 

Jimmy knocked at the door. It was opened by a plain- 
looking young woman, whose features were deeply sun- 
burned from constant outdoor work. Our young hero 
walked in complacently, and Graham followed. 

An empty stomach accentuates the sense of smell. The 
very first thing that impressed the famished fugitives was 
the delightful odor which pervaded the interior— a kitchen 
and dining-room in one. 

An elderly woman, with not unpleasant features, was 
standing before a small cook-stove preparing something in 
the edible line. 

“Dis is de cap’n, ma’am, wot I spoke about,” said 
Jimmy, by way of introduction. 

The woman made a slight courtesy. 

“You are a Union officer, I think,” she said, in a hesi- 
tating tone. 

“That is a dangerous avowal for me to make, madam,” 
said Graham, looking at her search ingly. 

“Not to me, sir,” she said, with simple dignity. “It is 
true I am a Southern sympathizer, by birth and from prin- 
ciple, but I owe the North one kind act which it will give 
me pleasure to repay. You are both hungry. Sit down at 
that table and my daughter will attend to your wants. Had 
I known that you were on the premises all day, I should 
have insisted on having you come into the house before 
this. However, you shall have the best our poor larder 
affords. ’ ’ 

“I am certainly obliged to you, madam. We are both 
very hungry. I trust you have considered the risk you have 
assumed in succoring an enemy. I would not have you 
suffer through your kindness of heart. ’ ’ 

“Be easy on that score. We are out of the way, and not 
often intruded upon. Indeed, for days at a time we have 
scarcely seen a soul pass up or down the lane. ’ ’ 


SIIENANDOAIL 


149 


‘ * Then you and your daughter occupy and work this farm 
alone?” hazarded Graham, attacking the plate of ham and 
eggs with great gusto. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you not afraid to be unprotected in these troublous 
times?” 

“No. I have said we are not often bothered. In truth 
we are too poor to offer a mark for the despoiler. Besides, ’ ’ 
she continued, pointing to a double-barreled gun standing 
in a corner, “we have that, and we know how to handle 
it.” 

Graham looked at the woman with increased respect, and 
not a little admiration for her courage. Hers was a face 
that bespoke the resolution her words conveyed. Not a 
sign of weakness in any feature. Yet it was not a hard 
countenance by any means. It was purely womanly, but 
characteristic of a nature constituted to meet trouble or 
danger with equanimity. 

Any one could see that she been more than usually pre- 
possessing in her maidenhood ; but now, at forty, her face 
showed that between her and the world there had been a 
constant struggle. 

‘ * My husband and eldest son are in the army, ’ ’ she con- 
tinued ; 4 4 my other boy is at sea. ’ ’ 

“Madam,” said Graham, “I presume I must regard you 
as the natural enemy of our cause*; but permit me to say 
that your disinterested kindness to me and this lad does you 
credit. I should be glad to know your name, that I may 
treasure it up in my memory. One meets with such few 
examples of nobility of character in the course of a lifetime, 
that I deem the present instance worthy of more than a 
passing recollection. ’ ? 

4 4 1 am obliged to you, sir, for your kind words ; but you 
place too great stress upon the service that I gladly render 
out of gratitude. My name is Warner. This is my daugh- 
ter, Annie.” 


150 


SHENANDOAH. 


“My name is Graham — my rank in the service, that of 
captain. Were I to acquaint you with my personal experi- 
ence, since I was wounded and taken prisoner at Manasses 
Gap, more usually alluded to as the battle of Bull Run, I 
should certainly awaken your sympathy. Owing to my 
unbroken run of ill-luck I have scarcely taken any part in 
this great civil struggle ; yet, I am at this moment being 
hunted down with an eagerness which could scarcely be 
equaled if on my capture the fate of the Confederacy 
depended. ” 

“Then am I indeed glad to render you any service. My 
husband or my son would not approve of this, of course; 
they are bitter against the North. We were fairly well off 
when the war began — we are poor now ; and who knows 
but the blood of either my husband or son, or perhaps of 
both, will further impoverish our home. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Madam, war is a desperate remedy even for a dangerous 
evil. It is bad enough when one is forced into it by 
foreign aggression ; but then a united people are stirred 
with the one patriotic sentiment that they must defend 
their homes and the nation’s honor from an outside enemy. 
With a civil war like this the issue is deplorable. Brother 
is arrayed against brother, and friend against friend. In 
any case, the nation is stirred to its depths, and must 
suffer grievously which ever side eventually is the victor. ’ ’ 

“Captain Graham you have voiced my own bitter reflec- 
tions. This war is a national misfortune, in that I can 
agree with you, though I hold the South to be in the right. 
We are fighting for a principle we contend to be ours by 
right. The North had no cause to force this conflict. I do 
not mean to uphold slavery in the sense that is applied by 
its opponents ; but I do claim that the negro was better off 
before the war than he is now, or will be until educated to 
the responsibilities of freedom. ’ ’ 

“Madam, I will not contradict your final assertion, but 
as a God-fearing woman, as your intelligence leads me to 


The death of the little drummer-boy.— See page 162, 




SHENANDOAH. 


151 


assume, I am surprised that you should for a moment con- 
tend that a state of bondage is anything but an unnatural 
condition. The constitution of this country, as subscribed 
to by the original thirteen states, of which the South repre- 
sented a considerable and important part, assumes that all 
men are born free and equal. Why then, may I ask, should 
a color line be drawn? It is an unfair advantage which 
knowledge and power exercises over ignorance and weak- 
ness. Give the negro the same chance as his white brother 
— for we are all brothers under God’s administration — and 
the black man will rise superior to his antecedents. It will 
take time ; but as surely as the sun shines on some part of 
our globe at this moment, so will the negro one day stand 
on the same plane with the white man. I even prophesy 
that within a few decades, he will represent without 
reproach, a section of our country in the capitol at Wash- 
ington. Slavery is a disgrace— the curse of any country. 
To wipe it off the soil of the land of the free we have 
inaugurated this war, though the South fired the first gun. 
The end I am sure justifies the means. ’ ’ 

Captain Graham spoke with the enthusiasm of youth, 
backed by the conviction of the philosopher, and his argu- 
ment was respectfully listened to by Mrs. Warner. When 
he finished she was silent. Perhaps his remarks had started 
a new line of thought ; perhaps she was too polite to con- 
tinue an argument that must necessarily become unpleas- 
ant. So the captain and Jimmy finished their meal, the 
best each inwardly agreed he had ever partaken of ; but 
then this is not to be wondered at. 

It was now long past dark. The lamp had been lighted, 
the window shades closely drawn, and the doors secured 
against a possible intrusion. 

Graham said that it was time for them to resume their 
hazardous retreat toward the Blue Ridge range. Mrs. 
Warner would not hear of it. 

“You must stay here a few days until the scent grows 


152 


SHENANDOAH. 


cold. You are welcome to my hospitality, such as it is, and 
you are quite safe. A good rest will put you in condition 
to meet the emergencies that lie before you. I beg you will 
not think of going. ’ ’ 

“Madam, I can only thank you. I would I could give 
you a substantial recognition of the service you have ren- 
dered us. But to stay longer— to impose upon your already 
scanty resources— would be an injustice on our part. ” 

“Nay, I would prefer ” 

“Madam, I am a soldier, and Jimmy here is a duodecimo 
edition of the same. We are used to privation. It is a 
part of the exigency of the service that we must expect to 
meet and endure. It is the warrior’s motto always to be 
equal to the occasion. Else, madam, I am afraid we should 
make very poor soldiers. ’ ’ 

“You are resolved then,” she said. 

“Yes, madam.” 

“Then let me put up some food for you. You will need 
it on the road. 

“I will gratefully accept your offer. It will reduce the 
risk of discovery. I hope that within a few days we shall 
be within the Union lines. ’ ’ 

Two compact bundles and an old canteen filled with water 
were prepared for the fugitives. 

“Now, madam, I will say farewell. May God bless you, 
and send prosperity once more in your way. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Warner was much affected by the warmth of his 
gratitude, and endeavored to make light of the obligation ; 
but Graham was too sincere to permit a word on her part. 

She then went to the door, and was in the act of drawing 
the bolt, when a loud knock startled every one in the room. 


SHENANDOAH. 


153 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THROUGH THE WILDS OF THE BLUE RIDGE. 

The knocking was repeated in a more energetic manner. 

“Open !” exclaimed a voice in peremptory tones. 

“Annie,” whispered the mistress of the house, “Take 
the captain np to the garret.” 

Miss Warner opened a door connecting with a small hall 
and a staircase. 

‘ ‘ This way, ’ ’ she said softly, 1 ‘ and tread lightly. ’ ’ 

Captain Graham and Master Jimmy passed out of the 
living room. Annie closed the door gently, and ran up the 
narrow stairs. The fugitives followed their conductress to 
the gloomy landing above. Here the young lady struck a 
match and pointed to a small ladder, one end of which was 
projected through a dark aperture in the ceiling. 

“There is a trap near the chimney. It opens upon the 
roof. If the house be searched, you may get out that way, 
and hide in the chimney top. As soon as you are in the 
garret I will remove this ladder. You can stop the opening 
with the hinged cover. ’ J 

Graham and Jimmy were soon isolated in their snug 
retreat. The captain’s first move was to locate the trap in 
the roof. This was easily found by feeling along the 
rafters in the direction indicated. The bolt was rusty from 
disuse, but yielded to persistent efforts. The officer then 
lifted Jimmy up, and the lad reported, after a brief survey 
of the immediate neighborhood, that four horses held by a 
trooper, were standing in the front of the building, and 


154 


SHENANDOAH. 


that the man’s position enabled him to command every 
avenue of exit from the house, except from the rear. 

In the meanwhile Mrs. Warner, after a short parley, 
admitted the newcomers. They proved to be a sergeant 
and four men, of the 1st Maryland cavalry, detached on 
special service to hunt up Captain Graham and take him at 
all hazards. 

The sergeant was a burly good-natured young fellow, who 
proceeded to make himself quite at home on the premises, 
while he propounded a number of questions for Mrs. 
Warner to answer. 

“You have a daughter, you say?” said the subaltern, at 
length, not having elicited any information from the mis- 
tress of the house. “Where is she?” 

“Upstairs. ” 

“Call her.” 

The young lady presently appeared. 

“You are accustomed to being outdoors a good part of 
the day, ain’t you, miss?” inquired the sergeant. 

“Yes,” replied the girl diffidently. 

“If any stranger was skulking about the premises, you 
would be apt to know it, wouldn’t you?” 

* ‘ I think I would, ’ ’ said the girl slowly. 

“Did you see any one to-day?” 

“Not a soul,” said the girl boldly. 

“Not even a boy, miss?” 

“No one whatever.” 

“I suppose no one could get into this house without your 
mother or yourself knowing of it?” 

“I am sure they could not, for being alone we are obliged 
to be on our guard against intrusion. ’ ’ 

“Could a person get into the barn without your knowl- 
edge?” 

4 ‘No. The door is always locked except when I am 
there. ’ ’ 

“Well, boys,” said the spokesman of the party, “we’ll 


SHENANDOAH. 


155 


ride over toward the woods yonder and follow the ravine. 
The fugitives have every advantage of us in this section of 
the Valley. It’s like hunting for a needle in a haystack. 
Have you any whisky in the house, ma’am?” 

4 4 1 keep a little, which is at your service, ’ ’ said Mrs. 
Warner, getting a jug from the cupboard, while her 
daughter handed each of the soldiers a glass. 

“Your health, ma’am,” said the subaltern, “and yours, 
miss. ” 

The toast having been drunk, the troopers departed, tak- 
ing their way across the adjacent meadows at a brisk galop. 

Captain Graham and Jimmy were presently back again 
in the kitchen. Mrs. Warner once more pressed them to 
remain ; but the officer held to his original determination. 
There being nothing to detain them longer, the officer and 
his little friend quitted the farmhouse, with the best 
wishes of their entertainers, and struck out upon their 
perilous way toward the mountain range. 

Forty-eight hours later they were traversing the rugged 
slopes of the Blue Ridge. They crossed the road at 
Ashbey’s Gap in the small hours of the morning, and 
plunged into the wild and rocky solitude beyond. 

So far fortune had been very kind to them. The chief 
danger that menaced them was their liability to run across 
small bands of guerrillas that infested the country in every 
direction. As yet they had encountered none of these 
gentry. 

No longer compelled to make their way only by night, the 
fugitives rested when they pleased, and as a whole made 
much better progress, notwithstanding the rough character 
of their line of march. 

The food they had brought away from Mrs. Warner’s, 
though husbanded with the utmost care, was now nearly 
gone ; besides they were greatly tormented by thirst. They 
were yet many miles from safety — how far they could not 
guess— and at their present rate of progress, even if not 


156 


SHENANDOAH. 


molested, several days would elapse ere they reached the 
advance line of Sheridan’s forces. 

Fortunately during the afternoon of their second day’s 
experience in the mountains, the fugitives discovered a rill 
of cool water, bubbling out of a fissure in the rocks. Talk 
of the fabled nectar of the gods ! Sweeter beverage never 
moistened human lips, thought Captain Graham, as his 
parched tongue reveled in the trickling stream. 

The dry canteen was replenished, and having bathed 
their faces and hands in nature’s soothing lotion, our heroes 
continued their journey much refreshed in mind and body. 

That night they came suddenly upon the bivouac of a 
party of Mosby’s freelances. The dense shrubbery muffled 
their approach, and screened the fugitives from observation 
in the very nick of time. Indeed so close had they come 
upon the enemy, whose fire was hidden behind a huge 
bowlder in a narrow gorge, that it was touch and go with 
them for half a minute. 

There was a dozen at least of the guerrillas hanging about 
the flames. The wild nature of their surroundings, their 
bronzed and bearded countenances, their boisterous hilarity, 
and the firelight painting gigantic presentments of their 
uncouth forms upon the rocky background, might well con- 
jure up in the onlooker’s mind a similitude to certain 
weird narrations of the orgies of demons in the gloomy 
regions of the Hartz Mountains. 

Captain Graham and Jimmy took care to make a wide 
detour in order to avoid this menace, and it took them 
higher up the mountain side than was their wont, and into 
a perfect maze of nature’s uncultivated handiwork. 

But what a grand panorama they had at intervals of the 
country to the east of the Blue Ridge, with the moon just 
sailing clear of a stretch of mist upon the low-lying 
horizon ! The position of our fugitives was too sternly 
realistic for them to pause yet awhile to enjoy the calm 
beauties of the vast landscape. 


SHENANDOAH . 


157 

Graham reckoned it to be about two in the morning, 
when he called a halt. They crept into a dense patch of 
shrubbery, and tired nature soon asserted itself. 

They awoke before sunrise on what, although they knew 
it not, was to be their last day in the mountains. Scarcely 
had they resumed their toilsome progress, inclining down- 
ward toward the Berryville turnpike, the sinuous course of 
which they could easily make out leading into the far-off 
town of Purcellville, when a loud shout arrested their 
progress. 

Then followed a rifle shot and a spent ball struck a stone 
almost at the captain’s feet. 

“By George!” exclaimed Graham, “this is unfortunate. 
We’re discovered and our only show is to lose these fellows 
in the intricacies of the shrubbery. ’ ’ 

Easier planned than executed. The three ragged, gray- 
coated men who leaped into view and pursuit in the rear 
were well accustomed to the rough mountain fastnesses, 
and this familiarity with the ground gave them every 
advantage over the Federal fugitives. 

This was soon apparent to Captain Graham. In fifteen 
minutes a rifle ball hummed past his ear, while the tri- 
umphant yells of the rebel trio told its own discouraging 
story. 

Crack ! 

The captain felt a sharp tug at his hat. These fellows, 
firing on the run, were as accurate as sharpshooters. 
There was no disguising the fact that the game would soon 
be up. 

Down the declivity tore the hunted pair. Down toward 
a grassy plateau that lay before the entrance to a ravine 
which cut into the mountain range not far from the pike 
on the plain below. 

It was a wild, desperate race — a clearly hopeless one ; yet 
the fugitives would not give in until fairly cornered or shot 
down in their tracks. 


158 


SHENANDOAH. 


The “Rebs, ” evidently sure of their quarry, seemed to 
enjoy the affair hugely. Gradually but surely they were 
closing in upon Jimmy and the captain. There were times 
when they could have easily brought either down with a 
shot ; but they forebore to shorten the chase in this sum- 
mary manner. They knew that by the time the fugitives 
reached the plateau they would have them wholly at their 
mercy, and their ferocious instincts inclined them to play 
awhile with their victims. Such inhuman sport as this, 
was too seldom met with not to be enjoyed to its utmost 
extent. 

The end was near. When the fugitives reached the 
grassy shelf, Graham saw that the guerrillas were so close 
upon them, that escape was well-nigh impossible. 

“Run Jimmy, lad, and I’ll cover your retreat,” said the 
officer facing about and drawing his revolver. 

“Nixy, cap; yer forgit I’ve got a gun and kin shoot, 
too.” 

The boy held his ground beside the man he loved better 
than even life. And there at last they stood at bay. 

As the Confederates came rushing downward over the rocks, 
Jimmy and the captain gave them a dose of their own 
physic. Graham emptied his pistol rapidly, though with- 
out result till the last shot, when the ball cut a bloody 
furrow across the cheek of the guerrilla second in the race. 

With a nasty oath the fellow stopped short and drawing 
a bead on the officer with his rifle, fired point blank. 

Jimmy saw the action, quick as it was executed, and 
sprang in front of Graham. The ball penetrated the little 
drummer-boy’s breast, and he fell back with a low moan 
into the captain’s arms, 


SHENANDOAH. 


159 


CHAPTER XXII. 

IN WHICH THE CURTAIN FALLS ON LITTLE JIMMY. 

“Surrender Yank!’’ shouted the foremost of the pursu- 
ers jumping down the rocks, and covering Graham with 
his rifle. 

It was an unnecessary precaution, for the Federal officer 
had dropped his now useless revolver, and was bending 
over the form of the dying boy he held in his arms. 

“Jimmy, lad,” cried Graham, for the moment utterly 
oblivious to the peril of his situation. ‘ ‘ Speak to me, for 
heaven’s sake ! Where are you hit?” 

The boy opened his eyes languidly, and feebly placed his 
hand on his breast. The movement disturbed his shirt, 
and the officer saw the red tinge that was dyeing the skin 
beneath. 

“Good God!” exclaimed the captain, tearing away the 
covering, and trying to stanch the wound. 

At this moment the rebel soldier, lowering his gun 
advanced with the intention of laying his hand upon his 
prisoner, when a flash and a puff of smoke suddenly issued 
from a clump of bushes ten yards above, and the Confeder- 
ate clapping his hand to his head staggered over the edge 
of the ravine, pitched forward and disappeared. 

His comrades were witnesses of his tragic end. In a 
moment both had emptied their rifles at the spot whence 
the shot had been fired. 

“Ha, ha!” 

A figure rose out of the bushes. Had Graham been sensi- 
ble of the bloody incident just enacted, he would have 


160 


SHENANDOAH. 


recognized this new factor upon the scene as Gideon Sikes 
— though greatly changed since their last meeting. 

He looked the picture of hard luck in the extreme — many 
degrees worse than on the night he reappeared to his wife 
a few weeks back. His face was wolfish in its tangled 
growth of beard and hungry ferocity. His eyes, sunk in 
his head, glowered upon the group below. He had no hat, 
and the livid patch of red, from which the blood oozed in 
a stagnant stream, showed that one of the rebel bullets 
had left a painful reminder. 

“Ha, ha! That’s one, curse you!” cried Sikes, in a 
strange voice, terrible from its fiendish intensity. “If 
there were a dozen of you I’d kill you all — all !” 

His voice ended in a hoarse scream, like a cormorant 
swooping upon its prey. Then he raised his rifle. 
Another flash and a second rebel dropped with a groan. 

“Ha, ha !‘ ’ 

It was a mirthless laugh — more like a screech than any- 
thing else. It sounded unearthly in its savage ferocity, 
and the rocks took up the echo with demonical repetitions, 
until one might have supposed the sides of the ravine were 
peopled with a hundred fiends. 

The remaining soldier stood for an instant paralyzed by 
the situation. Then he turned to fly. Too late. 

“Ha, ha!” 

Again that terrible laugh, again the rifle came to Sikes’ 
shoulder, and again the echoes awoke to the sharp crack of 
his weapon. As unerring as the silver bullet from Casper’s 
rifle in Der Freischtitz, so sped that leaden messenger of 
death, and the Confederate dropped over and lay quite still. 

Gideon Sikes lowered his smoking gun, and looked down 
upon his fatal handiwork. The sun rising above the far- 
away horizon, tinged his ghastly face and accentuated the 
ruddy hue that streaked his hair, and one hollow cheek. 

What a picture of satanic triumph he made as he stood 
there in his ragged apparel ! More like a savage than* a 


SHENANDOAH. 


161 


man. All the worst traits of his character projected to the 
surface. In malignancy almost a devil incarnate. Truly 
Mr. Sikes was very much changed for the worse. 

During it all Graham, lost to every other consideration, 
had stood there holding the little drummer-boy close to his 
heart, and trying so vainly to stop the purple stream that 
ebbed from the lad’s heart. 

“Don’t say you are badly hurt, Jimmy. Don’t say that, 
my boy ! Oh, God, he is dying ! Look up — speak to me, 
for heaven’s sake !” 

Tears of real grief suffused the captain’s cheeks. At 
length the little hero’s eyelids quivered. He opened his 
eyes, and the glazing orbs fixed themselves upon Graham’s 
face. 

“It’s — all up — cap. I wuz — hit hard — but — you ain’t 

took, cap— you ain’t took !’’ 

He smiled like a weary child just sinking to rest. 

“Jimmy — oh, my God, this is terrible!’’ exclaimed the 
officer, in agony of spirit. 

“Never — mind — me, cap. I’m happy — ’cause I’ve' saved — 
yer — life. I — promised — her — I’d stand — by yer — and I 
have. She’s — an angel — she — is — and — she kissed me.’’ 

He lay very still, the grayish pallor of death settling upon 
his boyish countenance. 

“You must not die, my lad. I can’t bear that. I’ve 
brought you all the way from Libby, and now to lose you 
thus, almost within sight of our lines, is too hard — too 
hard.’’ 

The captain forced a little whisky from his flask between 
the boy’s lips. A slight shudder ran over the little fellow’s 
body. 

“Don’t — mind — me, cap. I’ve done — me duty — and 
kin — die. It — ain’t — hard. You’ve bin — me best — friend, 
cap. I love yer — and— her. ” 

‘ ‘ Can nothing be done, ’ ’ said Graham pitifully. 

“Nothin’, cap. I never — t’ought ter pass— in me— checks 


162 


SHENANDOAH. 


— so soon. But— wot’s de difference. Nobuddy ever- 

cared— fur me— ’cept yous— and ”a tinge of blood came 

upon his lips and he moaned slightly. “I— ain’t been 
good— I never was— a Sunday-school kid; but— I hope 
dat— God— won’t furget dat deres’ wuss dan me. Let— me 
lie — down, cap.” 

Graham allowed Jimmy to sink upon the grass, and 
supporting his head forced a little more whisky down his 
throat. 

“It’s growin’, dark — cap, and — I — feel cold. Take me 
hand — in — yourn. Don’t — furget — ter — tell — her — dat I done 
me duty. ” 

Life was ebbing fast. The soul of a little hero was 
pluming itself for flight to a land where no distinction of 
caste would ever more burden a noble spirit. 

‘ ‘ Kiss — me — cap !” 

These were his last words, and as Graham strained him 
to his heart, a spasm convulsed the little face, his arms 
dropped limply by his side, and the officer held a corpse. 

Graham laid the dead boy reverently upon the ground. 
This sudden and awful rupture of a friendship — deeper 
through mutual self-sacrifice than the officer dared acknowl- 
edge — tore the captain’s heart as only a deep and unex- 
pected grief can do. 

‘ ‘ Dead ! And I can never repay the debt of gratitude I 
owe you, lad. What evil planet overshadows my destiny ! 
Have I not suffered enough, oh God, but that this last blow 
— the bitterest of all — might have been averted. I am 
indeed unfortunate in love, in friendship, in ambition. 
What is left? To die, if heaven so wills.” 

The morning sun cast a halo of glory about the dead. 
The Union drummer-boy, the rebel soldier who had fired 
the fatal shot, both lay but a few yards apart upon the vel- 
vety earth which received their blood. There was no 
distinction now. Both were one clay, kissed alike by the 
soft mountain breeze, that sighed a gentle requiem through 
the leaves. 


SHENANDOAH. 


163 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT A KNAVE MAY BE A 
FOOL AS WELL. 

As Graham knelt stupified by his afflicton, a heavy hand 
was laid upon his shoulder. He staggered to his feet, as 
though awakening from a hideous dream, and stood face to 
face with Gideon Sikes. 

“Sikes!” he said, in a broken voice. 

“That’s me. So you’ve lost the young ’un, eh?” 

“Lost him! Yes — murdered by the shot intended for 
me. ’ ’ 

“You’re right, and the fellow that fired it lies yonder,” 
said the scoundrel, with a hideous grin, pointing to the 
nearest Confederate corpse. 

“I did not kill him,” said Graham bewildered. 

‘ ‘ I should say not — but I did. ’ ’ 

“You?” 

“Yes — me. I shot the three of ’em — curse the tarnation 
skunks !” 

Mr. Sikes crossed over to his dead victim and raised his 
boot. 

“Stop!” cried Graham authoritatively. 

Gideon, his soldierly instinct yielding to the word of 
command, paused. 

‘ ‘ Do not desecrate the dead, ’ ’ said the officer. 

“Bah !” said Sikes, regarding the corpse contemptuously ; 
but nevertheless he forebore following up the indignity he 
had contemplated. 

“You have finishel him— is not that enough?” said 
Graham, 


164 


SHENANDOAH . 


“No! I’d like to grind his head under my heel! This 
fellow and his companions robbed me— took my gold— and 
laughed at me. They tied me to a tree and spat in my 
face. I swore then I’d have their blood, and I’ve kept my 
word. Look at me! Ain’t I a picture of opulence, eh?” 
he grinned malevolently. “Don’t I look as if I’d slept on 
down and fed on the fat of the land? Whose fault is that I 
haven’t done so? Whose fault is it that I’ve wandered 
about these mountains for three weeks, footsore and starv- 
ing? Whose fault is it that I am less the man I was and 
more the devil? Whose fault is it, I say?” he said fiercely. 
“That curs’, and his associates’. Haven’t I cause to hate 
’em? Let me ” 

“No!” 

The man had worked himself into a passion awful to 
see ; but Graham, stern and soldierly, stood between him 
and his petty resentment. “If it hadn’t been for me you’d 
been taken, ’ ’ said Gideon, in aggrieved tones. 

‘ ‘ Then I thank you for your assistance ; but you were too 
late to save the boy, ’ ’ said Graham sadly. 

“Well, better luck next time,” said Mr. Sikes indiffer- 
ently. 

‘ ‘ Better luck, ’ ’ repeated Graham, with something like a 
groan. “No— for me, there is no such a word. ” 

“Nonsense. If you hadn’t been fortunate, I guess you’d 
a-been in the penitentiary by this time” said Gideon 
significantly. 

Graham regarded him fixedly. 

“Oh, you needn’t look at me that way,” said Mr. Sikes, 
with something of his old insolence. ‘ ‘You were arrested in 
Colonel Anderson’s house for— murder. ” 

“Scoundrel!” exclaimed Captain Graham. 

“Hard words break no bones,” continued Mr. Sikes, in a 
disagreeable voice. “I don’t say that you knifed the colo- 
nel ; but appearance was against you. You were a fool for 
interfering in matters that didn’t concern you. Why 


SHENANDOAH. 


165 


didn’t yon stay in the loft till yon got well, eh ! I thought 
I had you safe enough there, but I made a mistake. ’ ’ 

“Look here, Gideon Sikes, what do you know about that 
affair at Colonel Anderson’s?” 

“Nothing,” said the rascal surlily. 

“You were employed on the premises, I think,” said 
Graham curiously. 

“Well, what of it?” said Mr. Sikes. 

“The night on which the colonel was stabbed, you left 
the place without notice — in a word you disappeared, leav- 
ing no clue, even for your wife to your subsequent move- 
ments. To say the least, your action throws a strong suspi- 
cion about you. ’ ’ 

“It won’t do, cap’n. You think to trap me into confess- 
ing that I had a hand in that affair with the colonel. 
Who’s to prove that I was in the library that night?” 

“Unfortunately for me,” said Graham, “the identity of 
that scoundrel is known to no one, unless may be to the 
colonel himself, who perhaps has his own reasons for 
concealment. ’ ’ 

“Why then should I be suspected?” 

“Your unaccountable act of leaving the premises at such 
a critical moment places you in an unfavorable light.” 

“Bah ! that’s no proof.” 

“No— but it justifies a disagreeable impression.” 

“Are you speaking for yourself?” said Gideon, with 
some show of resentment. 

“I am,” said Graham calmly. 

“You believe I stabbed the colonel?” 

“I suspect you of the crime.” 

“You tried to throw the guilt on me, I s’pose?” 

* ‘ I did not. ’ ’ 

“Oh, come now, you didn’t shoulder the blame of it all, 
without trying to kick over the traces, did you?” 

‘ ‘ I simply asserted my innocence. ’ ’ 

“Of course they didn’t believe you?” 


166 


SHENANDOAH. 


“I scarcely expected the authorities to take my word 
under the circumstances. ’ ’ 

“You expected to go to prison?” 

“I saw no alternative at the time. ” 

“And you never suggested that I had anything to do 
with the matter?” 

‘ ‘ Why should I ? What would it have availed me ? The 
colonel accused me direct. ” 

“I don’t wonder. He hated you. I’ll never get over the 
way he grasped my arm and hissed in my ear ‘ kill him. ’ ’ ’ 

“What do you mean? Did Colonel Anderson say that to 
you V' said Graham, laying his hand on Mr. Sikes’ 
shoulder. 

Gideon started hack with a curse. He perceived that 
unwittingly he had fallen into a trap of his own making. 
He shook off the officer’s hand, and said with sullen 
ferocity. 

“I want nothing more to do with you. Years back you 
saved my life, I guess that I’ve now more than squared the 
debt. So we’re even, and that ends all between us. Three 
miles below this ravine in the Valley, you’ll find a detach- 
ment of Sheridan’s cavalry. That’s your road. ” 

“I thank you for this information,” said Graham, “and 
I will act on it. 1 fancy, however, we shall meet again. ’ ’ 

“I hope not,” retorted Mr. Sikes frankly, turning on his 
heel and moving off across the rocks. 

“At last my suspicions have assumed definite shape,” 
murmured Graham, watching the retreating figure. 
“Crime sits easily on that fellow’s conscience. Colonel 
Anderson is not ignorant of the identity of his real 
assailant — and that is the man . ’ ’ 


SHENANDOAH. 


16 ? 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

IN WHICH CAPTAIN GRAHAM REJOINS THE ARMY AT LAST, 
AND SOME PARTICULARS ARE GIVEN OF THE 
BATTLE OF WINCHESTER. 

A reconnoitering party from the 5th New York civalry, 
Wilson’s division, was resting near the bank of the Shen- 
andoah river, not far from the turnpike leading westward 
toward Berryville, which was about ten miles distant. 

The Blue Ridge range rose in picturesque wildness 
close at hand. The morning sun was just peeping above 
the verdure-clad elevations, painting lengthy shadows of 
the trees against the mountain side, and heightening the 
emerald tints that clothed slope and gorge and ravine in 
nature’s loveliest attire. 

A man, bearing in his arms a curious burden, burst from 
the leafy covert that shaded the entrance to a deep defile. 
His course would presently bring him straight into the 
midst of the dismounted cavalrymen. 

In a few minutes his approach was observed, and several 
field-glasses were turned upon him. 

“What the dickens is the man carrying?” ejaculated a 
trooper. 

“A boy, or something like it,” responded a subaltern 
who was looking through his binocle. 

“He’s heading this way,” said the first speaker, helping 
himself to a good-sized bite of plug tobacco. 

“Very slowly. Rather fagged out I should say,” said 
the non-commissioned officer. “By George, he has the 
appearance of a soldier. A Confederate, I guess, who mis- 
takes us for friends, because we’re on this side the river. 


168 


SHENANDOAH, 


Well, he’ll soon find out his mistake. Yes, it’s a boy, sure 
enough, that he’s carrying. A devilish strange pair.” 

By and by one of the troopers went forward to meet the 
stranger. 

“Who are you?” demanded the soldier, walking up to 
the burdened man. 

4 ‘ A friend, ’ ’ responded the newcomer, in a low voice. 

4 4 Perhaps you are, ’ ’ said the cavalryman. 4 4 1 see you are 
a soldier. ’ ’ 

“I am an officer of the — th New York infantry. I have 
escaped from Richmond. ’ ’ 

“The devil you say ! Your name?” 

“Graham.” 

“Well, you’re among friends at last. Who’s the boy? Is 
he sick — he looks like death. ” . 

“He is dead,” responded Robert Graham, in sad tones. 

4 4 Shot down an hour ago by the enemy. ’ ’ 

“Sho! That’s too bad. I’ll relieve you of your burden, 
for you look played out yourself. ’ ’ 

In a few moments Graham was surrounded by the squad 
of cavalrymen, and an object of unusual interest. The 
officer in command immediately issued directions that their 
new comrade be supplied with such refreshment as the 
party could muster, a few biscuits and whiskey ad lib. 

The troop prolonged their stay in order that Graham 
might get a brief rest. Lying at full length on the grass, 
the officer briefly sketched his long, weary journey from the 
capital of the Southern Confederacy to the moment that 
his little companion met his death at the mouth of the 
mountain ravine. 

His grief over Jimmy’s sad fate was so distressing, 
that the hardened soldiers were deeply moved, and ex- 
pressed their sympathy in terms calculated to console their 
new associate. For the dead boy their admiration was 
genuine. All agreed that it was a sad ending for such a 
plucky chap. But death itself was too familiar a visitor 
among them to create much of an impression. 


SHENANDOAH, 


169 


The detachment at length took the road again, one of the 
men giving up his horse to Graham, and riding double 
with a comrade. The party crossed the river over the pike 
bridge, and an hour’s ride brought them into camp. 

Captain Graham was taken to General Wilson’s quarters. 
He became the guest of the staff officers, and his story, 
now more minutely told, was listened to with unusual 
interest. 

Little Jimmy was laid out, and his obsequies taken 
in charge by the 5th New York cavalry. The story 
soon passed throughout the length and breadth of the 
division, and a constant stream of visitors viewed the body 
of the little hero who had given his life to save his friend. 

On the following day the drummer-boy was buried with 
military honors. 

That afternoon Captain Graham was taken before Sheri- 
dan. The general offered to send him north to Washington ; 
but the captain declined the favor, begging that he be 
immediately employed on active duty. To this Sheridan 
acceded, and the young officer was appointed to the third 
division of the Sixth corps, and directed to report to 
General Pickett at once. 

Graham’s arrival was on the eve of the battle of Win- 
chester, which was fought on the 19th of September. This 
was the first great victory of Sheridan’s Valley campaign, 
and vindicated his judgment in delaying aggressive meas- 
ures until Early had been weakened by the departure of a 
portion of his forces to Richmond. Early certainly invited 
defeat by failing to occupy a position that would secure 
retreat as soon as his enemy should move upon the pike 
between Winchester and Strasburg. Not only that, but he 
erred in military judgment by detaching a large part of his 
army to Martinsburg, twenty-two miles north of Win- 
chester. Thus on the eve of a day destined to witness a 
great and decisive battle, the Confederate forces were 
strung along the pike. 


170 


SHENANDOAB. 


Sheridan began the day by moving his infantry, preceded 
by a division of cavalry, along the Berryville pike against 
Winchester. The latter crossed the Opequon creek and 
charged through a deep and narrow gorge beyond, carrying 
the earthwork at the month of the defile. The Sixth and 
Nineteeth army corps followed, and the first stage of the 
enterprise was successfully accomplished, the position taken 
up being about two miles from Winchester. 

During the morning hours, Ramseur’s division, assisted 
by Nelson’s artillery, had been the only infantry immedi- 
ately opposing Sheridan before the town. Had the Union 
march through the ravine been as rapid as was contem- 
plated, Ramseur might have been overwhelmed before aid 
could arrive. Unfortunately while the Union line was 
forming in the rebel front, Gordon’s and Rodes’ division 
were hurried down from Stevenson’s, and the situation 
was changed, inasmuch as Sheridan had now unexpectedly 
to fight Early’s whole army. 

Early’s object was to permit the Union forces to deploy 
up to a certain point, then beat in the attacking column 
and throw them back in confusion upon their line of 
advance ; lastly to ruin Sheridan by pushing his strong left 
through the Federal right, and reaching the mouth of the 
gorge so as to cut off his retreat. 

This fatal stroke was attempted early in the day, pushed 
with vigor, and for a time with terrible promise of success. 
Upon the Nineteenth corps and upon Pickett’s division of 
the Sixth corps, devolved the bloody task of holding the 
enemy at bay at no matter what cost of slaughter. They 
were to sustain the principal burden of the battle during 
the long hours which would be necessary to let Crook’s 
army of West Virginia sweep around on its more enviable 
and brilliant mission of turning the enemy’s flank. 

How the Nineteenth corps performed its portion of the 
task is shown by its record of killed and wounded. Swept 
by musketry and artillery in front, enfiladed by artillery from 


SHENANDOAH. 


171 


the right, pressed violently by the one grand column of 
attack which Early massed to decide the battle, it bled, but 
it stood its ground. Where in the annals of European wars 
is shown a more heroic exhibition of courage and self- 
sacrifice ? 

For a time it looked as if the unterrified Sheridan must 
meet with defeat. Pickett’s columns gave way under the 
fearful havoc it suffered, and surged back toward the gorge. 
Sheridan’s aides flew to the scene of disaster. That wild 
pass must be held, cost what it might. 

Captain Graham ran here and there rallying his men, 
oblivious to flying shells and the ping of the rifle-balls, that 
buzzed so continuously as to remind one of a swarm of 
bees. The fighting was now hand to hand. In the con- 
fusion the young officer became detached from his men and 
found himself in the midst of the remnant of the One- 
Hundred and Fifty-Sixth New York regiment, of which 
only forty men were left, the rest lying stark or wounded 
in a semi-circle on the crimson earth, or had fled from the 
fury of the deadly hail. 

Then came a frightful flank fire upon the whole briagde 
in addition to the storm in front. To hold out longer was 
to let the troops be murdered, and the retreat was sounded 
and swept down the line. It was the bloodiest and most 
dramatic moment of the day. 

r The reader can conceive the hopeless, unresisting slaughter 
which attends the withdrawal of troops from the immedi- 
ate presence of a powerful enemy. Rarely does it happen, 
if ever, that a force is extricated from this fearful trial 
without breaking. Yet this was practically accomplished 
by General Emory in the face of Early’s veterans advanc- 
ing steadily with yells of triumph, and a constant roll of 
murderous musketry. The rebel attack was checked and a 
large portion of the lost ground recovered. 

Three o’clock ! It was the hour on which hung the for- 
tunes of the terrible day. From the right, where the 


172 


SHENANDOAH. 


undulating ground concealed the troops from the rest of the 
army, ross a deafening battle-cry. Crook was advancing. 
He was met by an iron and leaden hail from the solitary 
forest — a continual roar like a tornado as it sweeps with 
desolation in its path. 

At this decisive moment Sheridan’s whole army assumed 
the offensive. Captain Graham was leading a mass of men 
gathered from various regiments, when a rebel shell burst 
within a few feet of him, actually seeming to crown his 
head with its deadly halo of smoke and harrowing frag- 
ments. 

Early was now reduced to a simple struggle to save 
himself from utter rout. He retreatetd in confusion, pre- 
senting no reliable line of resistance. As the sun kissed the 
western hills, the rebel force broke through Winchester in 
disorderly flight, and the moon later on looked down on 
Sheridan in full and exultant possession of the town. 


SHENANDOAH, 


1T6 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE LARGER PART OF WHICH HAS BEEN APPROPRIATED 
FROM AMERICAN HISTORY. 

The battle of Winchester restored the lower Valley of the 
Shenandoah to Union control, and permanently relieved 
Maryland and Pennsylvania from periodical invasions to 
which they had been subjected for three years. 

On the following morning at daylight, Sheridan began 
his advance along the Valley pike, and the Confederates 
simultaneously retreated to their old position on Fisher’s 
Hill, two miles south of Strasburg. 

During the afternoon the Sixth and Nineteenth corps 
arrived at Cedar Creek, and crossing, went into position 
on the heights fronting Strasburg. By evening, the Union 
pickets occupied the northern part of the town, and the 
rebel pickets the southern. Thus Colonel Anderson’s home- 
stead was within the Federal lines again, and Robert 
Graham, located far to the right of the pike, felt his 
thoughts continually reverting to the one woman, who, 
though the wife of another, was yet all the world to him. 

As night drew her bespangled mantle over nature’s face, 
Graham withdrew himself from the society of his brother 
officers, and paced a lonesome beat beyond the line of the 
camp proper. 

His thoughts were sad in the extreme. He went over 
again in imagination the night of his escape from Stras- 
burg, and the incident that encircled his flight over the 
country with the little drummer-boy, until the fatal events 
in the ravine of the Blue Ridge mountains, where his 


174 


SHENANDOAH. 


young companion had sacrificd himself that he, to whom 
life no longer held any charms in store, might be saved to 
fulfill his destiny. 

What svas this future for which he was preserved? In 
the battle of the day before, he had rushed often in the face 
of death ; yet while his men melted around him like dew 
before the sun’s rays, he seemed to bear a charmed exist- 
ence, and the desperate valor that urged him into the 
thickest of the fight served to bring him into such prom- 
inence, that his name was mentioned to Sheridan in the 
most flattering terms. 

A bitter smile crossed Graham’s countenance when he 
recalled the commendations of his official superiors. Once 
on a time, his face would have flushed with pride, and his 
heart would have quickened with a gratified ambition ; but 
now his pulses responded but sluggishly. His soul was 
cast down under the weight of a blasted present, and a 
future that seemed without a silver lining. 

Yet the darkest hour a ways precedes the dawn, and 
events were even then fashioning themselves that were to 
dispel the evil ban hanging over his spirits, and usher in 
for him the new day. If it be true, as some maintain, that 
the planets ascendent at one’s birth, influence for good or 
ill, every feature of subsequent life, then indeed must the 
aspects of the heavens that September night have smiled 
benignly upon Graham, though he, unconscious of the 
changing conditions, walked to and fro, wrapped in a 
mantle of such misery that pitying angels might have 
paused to silently commiserate. 

Sheridan finding Early’s right impregnable determined 
to repeat his successful tactics before Winchester by again 
turning the enemy’s left flank with Crook’s command. 
This was done with all secrecy during the night, since the 
Confederate station on Three Top mountain commanded 
both camps. 

Next day, Graham was too busy for despondency to play 


SHmAZmOAB. 


175 


any figure with him, as the Sixth corps continued to throw 
uptrenches on the valuable line it had gained confronting 
the enemy along Tumbling Run. The character of the 
ground, densely wooded, broken by ledges and cut up by 
ravines, made this a particularly difficult task. 

During the afternoon, Graham was again brought face to 
face with*stirring scenes. Pickett’s division was ordered 
to take up a desirable position further to the front, and 
aided by three rifle batteries, they drove back the enemy’s 
skirmish line in handsome style. 

In the meantime Crook’s division, with admirable silence 
and secrecy, had been all day moving toward and then 
along Little North mountain, under cover of the woods, till 
it had gained the enemy’s left flank and rear. 

It was just sunset when the army of West Virginia 
rushed across the intervening space, and before the rebels 
could recover from their surprise and consternation, was 
over the entrenchments. 

Early was fairly paralyzed. And well he might be, for in 
a few moments Pickett’s division of the Sixth corps had 
joined Crook, and the remainder of the corps with the 
Nineteenth, taking up the charge, descended into the 
ravine of Tumbling Run with a headlong rush, and were 
soon scrambling up the heights that it had seemed madness 
to attack. 

The whole Confederate line broke from its trenches and 
retired in considerable confusion. In a word, between 
sundown and dark, every portion of the strong position at 
Fisher’s Hill was carried, with Sheridan master of the 
situation. 

Early fled in disorder, under cover of darkness, through 
Woodstock to a point about four miles beyond, pursued by 
Merritt’s cavalry and the Sixth and Nineteenth corps, as 
far as the town itself ; but darkness rendered the pursuit 
unavailing. 

On the day following the battle of Fisher’s Hill, Early 


176 


SHENANDOAH. 


continued his retreat to Mount Jackson, half way to New 
Market. A vigorous demonstration on the part of the 
Union advance however, cause him to abandon this place, 
and he retreated across the north fork of the Shenandoah. 

Sheridan pressed forward, and the enemy continued to 
retire sullenly before him, but in line of battle. Early 
made his final halt between Port Republic and Brown’s Gap, 
in the Blue Ridge mountains; where he was joined next day 
by reinforcements under the rebel general Kershaw which 
largely repaired his shattered forces, and the very next 
morning he sought to retrieve his fortunes. 

Pursuant to Grant’s original instructions, Sheridan sent 
out two divisions of cavalry as far as Piedmont, w r ith 
orders to destroy forage, mills, and such other property as 
might be serviceable to the rebel army or the Confederacy. 
It was done in the most thorough manner, and the whole 
region which had abounded in food and forage as far up as 
Staunton from that moment became desolate. 

Sheridan, having achieved the object of his campaign, 
began October 6th, to retire down the Valley, continuing 
the work of destruction on the way. As soon as Early 
observed the movement, he pushed his forces in pursuit. 
Reinforced by Kershaw, he was already stronger than at 
any time since his defeat at Winchester, and his aggressive 
instincts were again alert. 

But his eagerness received a check on the following day 
in the engagement known as Tom’s Brook, where Sheri- 
dan’s cavalry covered themselves with glory. On the day 
after this action the Union forces moved across Cedar 
Creek, and there occupied the heights. Early learning that 
his opponent was preparing to send troops to Petersburg, 
moved forward his infantry from New Market, and on 
October 13th, reoccupied Fisher’s Hill, pushing his advance 
through Strasburg to Hupp’s Hill for the purpose of recon- 
noitering. 

Early’s unexpected advance caused the Union general to 


SHENANDOAH. 


-i iyi* 

l » * 


recall the Sixth corps, which was already on the way to 
join Grant at Petersburg. Then feeling that he was well 
able to hold the enemy in check, Sheridan determined to 
proceed personally to Washington to see Stanton, as the 
secretary of war had written him that a consultation on 
some disputed points was extremely desirable. 

When he reached Front Royal, on his way north, he 
received a startling message from General Wright, who had 
been left in charge of the troops at Cedar Creek. The 
dispatch had been taken from the signal flag at the Con- 
federate station at Three Top mountain. It read as follows : 

“To Lieutenant-General Early: 

“Be ready to move as soon as my forces join you, and we 
will crush Sheridan. Longstreet.” 

The intercepted dispatch was of great value to Sheridan. 
He had brought away from Cedar Creek Meiritt’s division 
of cavalry, intending to send it through Chester Gap toward 
the Virginia Central railroad ; but now, although he more 
than half believed that the dispatch was a ruse on the 
enemy’s part, still with his usual prudence, he reconsidered 
the cavalry expedition, and send the division back to Cedar 
Creek, Sheridan then proceeded to Washington, 


178 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER XXVf. 

SHERIDAN’S RIDE. 

Captain Graham had so greatly distinguished himself 
since he joined the army of the Shenandoah that his 
promotion was certain. He had been attached to General 
Sheridan’s staff, and was the officer whom Wright selected 
to carry the intercepted message taken from the enemy’s 
signal station, to the commander-in-chief then at Front 
Royal on his way to Washington. 

Graham returned to Cedar Creek with Torbett’s cavalry, 
which, as a matter of precaution, had been ordered back. 
The captain was also the bearer of a note from Sheridan to 
Wright, advising the latter to make his position as strong 
as possible, and be prepared for any emergency. 

Under the excitement of active service Graham had little 
time to ponder over his own private miseries. The dead 
past w’as dissolving like a shadowy dream, the future was 
misty and uncertain ; but the present was tinged with fche 
glorious successes of the army of which he was a part, and 
in whose welfare and glory he daily took a larger and more 
enthusiastic interest. 

The army of the Shenandoah was camped on the left 
bank of Cedar Creek. Its position was an echelon of three 
lines — that is to say, in terraces formed by three separate 
hill crests. The left and more advanced crest was held by 
Crook’s division, viz., the army of West Virginia; the cen- 
tral one, half a mile to the rear of the first, by the Nine- 
teenth corps ; the right and rearmost by the Sixth corps. 


SHENANDOAH. 


179 


The fronts and to some extent the flanks of the first two 
sections were protected by breastworks of logs and earth, 
with batteries in position ; while the rolling country to the 
right of the Sixth corps was occupied by Torbett’s cavalry. 
In front the position was impregnable except by a surprise, 
and to turn it was an enterprise so dangerous that it was 
hardly dreaded. 

To add to the general feeling of security that pervaded 
the army, the daily reconnoissances indicated that the Con- 
federate forces had apparently retreated up the Valley. 
Owing to the lack of forage and supplies it was generally 
understood that Early would either attack or retreat, and 
all the reports brought in on the afternoon preceding the 
memorable battle of Cedar Creek, pointed strongly toward 
the latter fact. 

Early, however, had learned of Sheridan’s absence from 
his army, and he determined upon a surprise that was 
hazardous beyond parallel. Had he been discovered in the 
midst of it his army would have been cut in two, the 
Union cavalry would easily have prevented retreat to 
Fisher’s Hill, and inevitable ruin to the rebel forces must 
have been the result. 

From Three Top signal station the Confederate general 
could look down into both camps — rivers, hills, roads, 
fords, woods and clearings all spread out before him. Not 
only did he have a bird’s-eye view of Sheridan’s position, 
but he saw that it was possible to move his infantry along 
the base of the Massanutten mountain, on the edge of the 
river, so as to cross below Cedar Creek, and thus outflank 
the Union army. 

At midnight, the 18 th of October, Early’s entire army 
was in motion, and moved forward with the greatest 
secrecy. Tlie artillery was held on the pike in the rear of 
Strasburg to await the moment to attack, since the rum- 
bling of the heavy wheels in the stillness of the night 
might sound a note of warning to the sleeping Federal 
army. 


180 


SHENANDOAH. 


The enterprise was admirably carried out — indeed this 
fearfully perilous march under the nose of a powerful enemy 
was accomplished with a success little less than miraculous. 
As though the very audacity of this movement had appealed 
to the sympathy of Dame Nature herself, the moon van- 
ished, and a thick mist shrouding the landscape in obscur- 
ity, hid from sight the advancing rebel hosts. 

Dawn was faintly lighting up the horizon over a low 
eastern crest, and dark lines of infantry were dimly visible 
in the gray light, when a ringing volley of musketry burst 
forth with startling suddenness in the vicinity of Tho- 
burn’s division, and over every part of their parapets rushed 
Kershaw’s infantry with the scream on scream of the well- 
known rebel battle -yell. 

The information was at once sent to headquarters that 
Early had attacked Crook’s left in force. The messenger 
found Wright, surrounded by his staff, preparing to 
mount ; such is the alertness of the soldier who must ever 
be prepared on the instant to meet and grapple with an 
emergency. 

'‘Have you any knowledge how the assault has suc- 
ceeded?” asked the general. 

“None,” replied the messenger tersely. 

All of the Union commanders exerted themselves at once 
to form a line for the defense of the road. AJnder ordinary 
circumstances this plan would have been effective against 
the force in front ; but while the Union troops were intent 
on the approach of Kershaw, a second and no less startling 
surprise came upon them. 

In the dense fog, which had covered his advance, the 
rebel general Gordon came through the woods in a direction 
nearly perpendicular to the pike, and rushed upon the 
Union left flank, carrying dismay and confusion to the 
remainder of Crook’s corps, thus uncovering the Nine- 
teenth, now left to fight alone for a disorganized army. 
Enfilated by a concentrated fire, and taken in the reverse, it 


SHENANDOAH. 


181 


became impossible to maintain their position, and the 
corps began to fall back. The Nineteenth corps was not 
only attacked in the rear, but was outnumbered ; and though 
it made a gallant fight, it was a hopeless one. 

Graham, waiting for orders in the presence of Generals 
Emory and Wright, knew that a great disaster had hap- 
pened. He saw a ceaseless flow of stragglers pouring out of 
the wood and passing toward the rear. As McMillan’s 
brigade had already been pushed out in that direction to 
arrest the progress of the enemy, Wright, fearing that this 
brigade had broken, sent Captain Graham to find out who 
the stragglers were. 

As our hero approached the wood, the stream of fugitives 
seemed to increase in volume, and were retreating in the 
greatest confusion. 

“What command do you belong to?” shouted Graham, 
spurring his horse into the midst of the living river. 

‘ ‘ To the Eighth corps, ’ ’ man after man responded, as he 
rushed breathlessly by. 

“What!” exclaimed Graham in dismay, “has Crook 
been driven from his position?” 

“Yes,” came the response on all sides. 

A roar of musketry from the wood apprised the officer 
that McMillan’s Brigade was opening up its struggle, but 
he could not know how hopelessly it was overmatched, 
flanked as it was by Ramseur, and charged in front and on 
the right by Kershaw. Within the space of a few moments 
that tangled wood became a veritable slaughter-pen. 

As the shattered ranks came out upon the open ground 
they were raked by the fire of a line drawn up across the 
hollow through which they had entered the thicket scarce 
fifteen minutes previous. The brigade rallied two hundred 
yards from the scene of its defeat ; but this second stand 
was but momentary and of no avail. A semi-circle of fire 
converged upon the new positon, and the retreat continued. 

Graham reached an elevated point where he obtained a 


182 


SHENANDOAH. 


fine view of the field. He could plainly see that the battle 
on the present line was lost beyond redemption. 

“Ha!” he exclaimed, “the Sixth corps is going in at 
last. Can they stem the bloody tide?” 

The prospect looked doubtful, as Gordon, extending con- 
stantly by the right, and supported now by the full force of 
Pegram and Ramseur, seen:ed to be outflanking them, as it 
had previously outflanked Crook and the Nineteenth corps. 

Surging around the elevation on wdiich Graham stood 
was a mass of men in full retreat, while a company of 
artillerymen were urging their guns up the slope. 

The roar of the battle was frightful. The dead and 
desperately wounded lay in piles upon tne bullet- swept 
plain. With a sigh Graham dashed away, for he had no 
time to waste. He could see that the fight was sweeping 
rearward — always rearward. No matter where the retreat- 
ing Union line pulled itself together, Early’s continually 
extending right soon brought bewilderment and demoral 
ization. 

It looked as if the army was slowly but surely going to 
pieces Enough men could never be got into action at one 
time to stem the current. The enemy was forever overlap- 
ping the Federal front, and doubling back the left. 

The Sixth corps in turn sullenly retired. A thousand 
yards back the line again halted, fronted and opened fire, 
and Graham with other aides made strenuous exertions to 
reorganize the mass of stragglers. Here for half an hour the 
fight raged furiously. It was a continual roar of musketry 
without a pause in the explosion. 

Hell seemed to be spurting fire upon the serried ranks. 
The gallant Union line w r avered under the deadly hail that 
thinned it in bloody patches. The soldiers did all that 
men could do, and then once more the retreat began, com- 
mencing enevitably on the left, where they were anew 
outflanked by the indefatigable Gordon r 

Fifteen hundred yards further back the troops again 


SHENANDOAH. 


183 


baited. The men gathered rails and threw up rude field 
works. The Sixth and Nineteenth corps were now united, 
and the Federals had at last succeeded in getting their left 
flank out of the grasp of Gordon. 

From this point; the rebel advance was cautious. 
Musketry fire had dropped off, and the retreat was con- 
tinued under long-range artillery. The army of the 
Shenandoah was badly beaten, though not actually routed. 

The battle had now lasted five hours. Graham was rid- 
ing with orders from Wright to certain regimental com- 
manders, to incline their troops toward the pike, the 
recovery of which was the great object at this moment, 
when a shouting was heard far away to the rear. 

The captain could see the long line of stragglers reaching 
out toward Winchester. In the distance a cloud of dust 
was moving along the road. As he looked he saw hats 
waved and thrown into the air. The shouting was taken 
up by group after group, and the wave of sound rolled on 
like a great tempest of joy. 

What did it mean ? As the dust parted, a black horse and 
its rider could be seen tearing onward, followed by a dozen 
other mounted men. The great army of fugitives paused 
in retreat and followed the cavalcade back to the front. 

And now the cheering is taken up by the marching 
troops, and the excitement of the moment is tremendous. 
Every one recognizes the gallant black charger, and the 
man on his back, as like a whirlwind they come tearing 
down the pike. 

4 4 Sheridan ! Sheridan !” is the cry. 4 4 Hurrah !” 

Yes, it was Phil Sheridan, the one man needed to turn 
defeat into glorious victory. Watch the fire in his eye,, as 
he dashes down the line, horse and master covered with 
dust and foam, after that long ride from Winchester, 
nearly twelve miles away. Was there ever greater enthusi- . 
asm than that which greeted his appearance on this bloody 
and thus far fatal field? He came in the nick of time, and 
he was a host in himself. 


184 


SHENANDOAH . 


“What troops are these?” shouted Sheridan. 

f ‘ The Sixth corps, ’ ’ replied a hundred voices. 

“We are all right,” said Sheridan, as he swung his old 
hat, and dashed along the line toward the right. ‘ ‘ Never 
mind, boys, we’ll whip them yet, we’ll whip them yet ! 
we shall sleep in our old quarters to-night !” 

As his stirring tones floated on the air the men threw 
their hats aloft and cheered in wildest joy. 

For two hours all was preparation, reorganization and 
suspense. Then came a message from Sheridan to Emory 
that the enemy were advancing against the Nineteenth 
corps, which was formed in double line under cover- of a 
dense wood. Then there came an awful rattle of musketry, 
that reverberated through the trees like a deep roar. The 
smoke cleared away, and it was seen that the Confederates 
were repulsed. 

Graham carried the intelligence back to Sheridan. 

“That’s good, that’s good!” exclaimed the commander- 
in-chief. “Now then go back and tell General Emory if 
they attack him again to go after them, and to follow them 
up, and to give it to them. ’ ’ 

And Graham, trembling with enthusiasm, spurred off on 
his mission. 

“By Jove!” he cried, “if we beat them now it will be 
magnificent. ’ ’ 

Soon Sheridan sent orders for the whole line to advance, 
and presently out from the temporary shelter of the wood 
marched the Federal troops into the open ground beyond. 

There was a brief silence, then a screaming, humming 
rush of shell, then a prolonged roar of musketry mingled 
w T ith the long-drawn yell of the Union charge, and the 
enemy’s first line, stone walls and unfinished breastworks 
were carried. The first of the rebels to fly was Gordon’s 
division, which had so persistently flanked the army of the 
Shenandoah in the morning. 

Sheridan dashed along the front reorganizing the line for 


SHENANDOAH. 


185 


a second charge, and giving his orders in person to brigade, 
division and corps commanders. 

The second charge upon the second line was executed like 
the first, with a wild rush and an impetuous enthusiasm 
that carried all before them. 

‘ ‘ Those men are doing all that flesh and blood can, ’ ’ said 
Graham, who was following up the first division. 

The battle was over. Again Early’s army was “ whirling 
up the Valley,” in more hopeless confusion this time than 
after Winchester and Strasburg. The feature of the victory 
was the retrieving of the battle, and this was accomplished 
without reinforcements by one man— Sheridan. 


186 


SHENANDOAH. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“the knife! the knife! i’ye dropped the knife!’’ 

It was the night after the battle. The tired soldiers had 
regained the same positions that they had been driven out 
of in the twilight of the dawn, and they lay down to rest 
without food or shelter, among dead comrades and dead 
enemies. 

From the camps to Strasburg, a distance of four miles, 
the road was strewn with the debris of a beaten army, and 
the scene in Strasburg itself was such a choas of wreck and 
bedlam of panic, as no other defeat of the war can parallel. 

Colonel Anderson stood by his library window, as he\had 
done on that memorable afternoon when Early’s troops had 
filed past on the pike in pursuit of Sheridan’s retreating 
army, and he gazed sadly and hopelessly out upon the 
dusky Valley. 

He was but a shadow of his old military self. In the last 
two months he had visibly aged. All saw that this man of 
iron was breaking down under the strain that conscience, 
wrestling with a baffled vengeance, and abetted by the 
shock he had received at the hands of the midnight 
assassin, was working upon his physical system. To this 
was added the mental shock he experienced in the repeated 
reverses of rebeldom in the Valley. And now, the final 
havoc and defeat at his very door of the flower of Early’s 
army, rang in his ears like the death knell of the Confeder- 
acy. It was a bitter draught, that he fain must drain to 
the dregs. The old colonel’s pride was humbled in the 
dust. The past seemed to stand behind him like some 


SHENANDOAH 


18 ? 


dread specter mocking his scattered happiness, pointing out 
the dreary waste of the present, and foreboding the misery 
that was crowding upon the future. His wife. It mad- 
dened him to think of her. If Robert Graham were only 
dead, then he knew he would welome oblivion and the 
grave. 

It took but little to shake the colonel’s nerves now, and 
he was greatly startled and agitated when a shadow evolved 
itself out of the darkness, and advanced to the very win- 
dow from which he looked. 

He recoiled as one thunderstruck before this strange 
apparition, and gazed at the intruder as too bewildered to 
speak. 

‘ ‘ Returned ! ” he gasped. 

The word froze on his lips, as Mr. Sikes, travel-stained 
and more disreputable than ever, pulled open the French 
sash and confronted the owner of the Anderson homestead. 

“Well, colonel,” he said, with a hungry, sinister look, 
“you ain’t glad to see me, I guess; but it ain’t my fault 
that I’m back again, like the proverbial bad penny. I’ve 
had cussed hard luck — enough to drive a fellow like me 
mad. I’ve been robbed of every penny I took away from 
here that night, and I’ve been starved into the bargain.” 

“What do you want of me?” said Colonel Anderson, 
with a poor assumption of hauteur. 

“All in good time. I never could talk business on an 
empty stomach. If you’ll be so kind as to order a bite of 
something in here, and a glass of whisky to wash it 
down, I’ll be obliged to you. ” 

“You rascal !” 

“Easy now, old man, I ain’t in the best of humor, and if 
you’ll take my advice, well meant, you won’t rile me. 
’Cause what I’ve got to say, must be said coolly, as it’s for 
your good, as well as mine.” 

Mr. Sikes threw himself into a convenient chair, like one 
used up, and the bright glow from the lamp upon the 


188 


SHENANDOAH 


colonel’s desk lit up the crafty, dogged determination 
expressed upon the scoundrel’s every feature. 

The colonel saw he had to deal with a desperate villain, 
and the recollection of that dreadful attack upon his 
defenseless person, two months since, by the very man who 
now confronted him, caused him to smother his anger, and 
to make an appearance at least of falling in with the fel- 
low’s mood. 

So he pulled the bell-rope, and when the summons was 
answered, he directed that food and liquor be immediately 
brought into the library and placed before his unsavory 
visitor. 

Mr. Sikes attacked the refreshments like a famished 
beast, while the colonel paced the floor a prey to the most 
conflicting and disturbing thoughts. 

“It ain’t in me to keep a man like you in misery when I 
can put him out of it,” said Mr. Sikes, when partially 
satisfied, “so I’ll come at once to the point.” 

“What point?” said the old Confederate officer, pausing 
in his walk. 

“There’s only one point that I can see,” said the 
cadaverous -looking scoundrel, “and that is money.” 

“Money !” echoed the colonel. 

“Ay, money — the only thing that can make a fellow like 
me forget the cursed inequalities of life. I’m busted. 
Cleaned out com — pletely. I must replenish. Start anew 
again. There was no one I could apply to but you. ” 

“Why to me?” 

“Come, I like that. Ain’t we pals?” 

“What do you mean, rascal?” 

“Rascal, eh! I wasn’t eddicated as a gentleman; you 
were, and yet you’re worse than me. You tempted me to 
commit a murder to oblige you ; to follow up and kill a 
man ag’in whom I had no grudge, bacause you daren’t 
attempt it yourself, ’cause of the disgrace of it. Oh, 
you’re a gentleman, you are. You did the planning, and 


SHENANDOAH. 


189 


you selected me to carry the idea out in practice. The gold 
you tempted me with that night got the better of me — it’s 
my weak point— that’s why I nearly done for you. It was 
your own fault— not mine. ’ ’ 

“What have you done with the money you robbed me 
of?” said the colonel. 

“Didn’t I tell you I was robbed of every stiver! But I 
got even with ’em,” said Mr. Sikes, grinning in a fiendish 
manner. “I got even, curse ’em!” 

“And you expect more — more — from mef” 

“Exactly. You’ve plenty, I’ve heard you say so,- and 
you won’t miss it. A few hundred is nothing to you — it’s 
everything to me. I need it. I must have it, and what’s 
more I will have it ! ” 

“You dare threaten me?” 

“I do. Your big words and black looks don’t scare me 
worth a cent. So just pan up and I’ll be off. If you care 
anything about that honor you make such a fuss about, 
you’ll play dummy on this matter for the remainder of 
both our nat’ral lives.” 

“Suppose I refuse ” 

“Then,” said Mr. Sikes, in a threatening manner, “I’ll 
have to help myself ; but mind you, if I’m taken I’ll blow 
upon the whole conspiracy ag’in Cap’n Graham, and I 
guess that’ll ruin you off hand. ” 

“You !” exclaimed the colonel contemptuously, “you dare 
not !” 

“Dare not!” said Mr. Sikes, springing to his feet. 
“You’ve yet to know what it is to be a hunted man — to be 
tracked from pillar to post, till a man shies at his own 
shadow. Dare not ! I dare do anything now , even if I put 
my neck into the noose for it. ’ ’ 

“Silence !” exclaimed the old officer, glancing fearfully 
around. “You shall have what you ask for — but, silence!” 

“All right, colonel, I’m mum.” 

He returned to the table. 


190 


SHENANDOAH. 


“You shall have another five hundred — in gold — it is all I 
can spare now. Send me your address when you reach 
New York, where I suppose you will go, and I will send 
you more after a time. Will that satisfy you?” 

“You’ll keep your word, colonel?” 

‘ ‘ On my honor. ’ ’ 

“All right— I agree. Get the coin and I’ll be off for 
good. ’ ’ 

“You’ll not stir from this table till I return?” said 
Colonel Anderson. 

“Not much— I’m a fixture.” 

“Very well. ” 

The colonel walked toward his strong room, but he stag- 
gered and leaned against the center table, with a gesture as 
of pain. 

“My heart nearly stopped then, ” he muttered. “This 
ruffian will be my death after all.” 

With an effort he recovered himself and entered the room 
off the library. 

“I guess I’m a pretty bad egg,” soliloquized Mr. Sikes, 
“ Eve been a rascal all my life, but I’m jiggered if that old 
man ain’t distanced me at a bound. ” 

He poured a glass of liquor from the decanter and tasted 

it. 

< < Claret ! Bah ! To think what taste some folks have. 
I never could touch such stuff. Where’s the knife?” 

He spied it nearly out of reach, and leaning over to get 
it, he stumbled against the table so that the knife at the 
moment he grasped it was jerked from his hand. At this 
instant Stella Anderson appeared at the library door. 

“The knife! the knife ! I’ve dropped the knife!” 
exclaimed Gideon, in a sharp, snarling tone. 

“The voice! ’Tis he! The man of that fearful night!” 
and Stella, with a wild, thrilling cry rushed forward and 
seized the astonished scoundrel. 


SHENANDOAH. 


191 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

“Robber and assassin ! M cried Stella ; “do not attempt to 
escape !” 

“Take away your hands, ma’am ,’ 5 said Mr. Sikes 
sullenly, “I don’t want to hurt you. But take away your 
hands, or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’’ 

“Help! Help!” cried Stella, as Gideon shook off her 
grasp. 

Colonel Anderson, startled by the scream, hurriedly 
re-entered the room. 

“Ashley, husband, do not permit this man to leave the 
house. He is the man whose voice I heard that night — the 
midnight assassin !” 

The colonel advanced. 

“You are out of your senses, Mrs. Anderson, “he said 
coldly, “I know this man.” 

“You hear him, ma’am,” said Mr. Sikes, with great 
sang-froid , ‘ ‘ The colonel knows me. ’ ’ 

“Husband—” began Stella appealingly. 

“You will oblige me, madam, by withdrawing. I have 
business with this man,” said the colonel. 

“I will not go,” cried Stella vehemently. “That fellow 
attempted your life, and the crime was charged to an inno- 
cent man. Justice shall be done. If you refuse to detain 
him I will alarm the house. ’ ’ 

“You are mad!” said Colonel Anderson angrily. 

“I am not mad,” said Stella, drawing herself up and 


192 


SHENANDOAH. 


fixing her eyes upon her husband. “The cloud which 
obscured my brain and sight has passed away, and I see 
clear — at last Your object has been to ruin Captain 
Graham. Thank heaven, he escaped from the pit your 
unfounded jealousy dug for him. 

“Woman!” cried the colonel, with a burst of passion, 
“You would defend your ” 

He stopped as Stella advanced a step and their eyes met. 
Her look was proud, almost contemptuous. 

“You dare not, Ashley Anderson, you dare not utter that 
word to me ! I am your wife, and as a wife, have kept 
your honor unsullied — your honor and my own. ’ ’ 

“Enough — enough! The truth is known,” said the colo- 
nel, after a pause. 

“The truth is not known,” said Stella, crossing the room, 
and before either of the men divined her purpose, she 
grasped the bell-rope and pulled it rapidly. 

“The jig is up, colonel,” said Mr. Sikes hurriedly, “I 
must dust out— the money, where is it?” 

“You must return later,” said the officer in a low voice. 

“Remember,” said Gideon fiercely, “if I’m taken I’ll 
disgrace you. ’ ’ 

As the library door was opened by the colored servant in 
answer to Stella’s summons, Mr. Sikes pulled open the 
French window and darted out into the night. 

“Jackson, call Mr. Hendricks — everybody — and pursue 
that man. He must not escape ! He is the villain who 
struck down your master that night!” 

Stella spoke rapidly, and with such dramatic intensity, 
that the colored man flew at once to do her bidding. 
Within a few minutes the grounds about the old homestead 
were transformed into a scene of animation and excitement. 
The determined attitude assumed by his wife left the 
colonel in a state of bewildered inaction. 

“Now, Ashley Anderson, tell me by what right you have 
treated me with such cruel indifference during the last two 
months?” 


SHENANDOAH. 


193 


“ Right!” 

“When you married me, you took a woman without a 
heart. There was no deception, as you know. The casket 
was empty when you bought it. Robert Graham was my 
first, my only love. I believed him dead, and by marrying 
another, wrecked the happiness of two hearts. But the 
grave gave up its dead, and Captain Graham, fresh from 
the horrors of Libby prison, entered this house to bid me a 
last farewell. Dare you judge that act harshly? Remem- 
ber, the man was broken down with suffering — mental and 
physical. He was within the enemy’s lines, liable at any 
moment to be retaken and sent back to Richmond. Is 
there no excuse to palliate that one act of indiscretion on 
his part? For I was true to you — as true as heaven !” 

“I dare not believe you,” gasped Colonel Anderson, 
pressing his hand to his heart, while a spasm of pain 
crossed his features. 

“Dare not!” she said. 

‘ ‘ No, I dare not. ’ ’ 

“I have been false to no duty that I owed you. What 
can I say, what oath shall I take that you will believe me? 
Yon wish to be avenged? Then take my life — my life. It 
is not death I fear — but do not dpubt my honor !” 

Colonel Anderson stood for a moment regarding his wife 
fixedly, then as if overcome by a sudden w T ave of convic- 
tion, that, as it were, brushed away the film of prejudice 
that warped his judgment, he stepped forward and placing 
his hands upon Stella’s shoulders, said brokenly : 

“I believe you. To longer doubt is impossible. Forgive 
me, Stella — wife. ’ ’ 

“Ashley !” 

“I will recall the charge I made against Captain Graham. 
Quick ! Bring the lamp to my desk for — I am not well. ’ ’ 

He dropped into the chair with every sign of exhaustion. 

‘ ‘ My strength is almost gone, ’ ’ he said sadly, ‘ ‘ yet if it 
be my last act I will do justice to the innocent, ’ * 


194 


SHENANDOAH. 


He took up a pen and by a great effort wrote these few 
words : 

“Captain Robert Graham is innocent of the crime with 
which I charged him. The real criminal is Gideon Sikes, 
a convict, now at large. Ashley Anderson. ’ ’ 

He held out the paper to Stella. 

“It is a dying man’s atonement. Forgive me, Stella — 
my darling — my wife !” 

“Forgive you, Ashley,” she said, throwing her arms 
about him, as she dropped on her knees by his side, “I do 
forgive you, my husband, with all my heart, with all my 
soul. ’ ’ 

The silence that followed was disturbed by the hum of 
voices and the tramp of feet approaching the house. In a 
few moments the library was invaded by a crowd of 
servants preceded by Captain Graham and Job Hendricks 
dragging Mr. Sikes between them. 

“Villain!” exclaimed the colonel, starting up and point- 
ing his finger at Gideon. “You shall now answer for your 
crimes. I fear you no longer. ’ ’ 

“Mercy, Colonel Anderson,” cried a woman pushing 
herself through the crowd. Margaret Sikes sprang forward 
and then threw herself on her knees before Stella and the 
colonel. 

“He is my husband. Have pity on him— oh, have pity 
on him !” 

“Never mind me, old girl,” said Mr. Sikes, with an air 
of bravado, “I can take care of myself. I ain’t caged yet. 
A fine gentleman he is for you to kneel to. A nice pal to 
turn upon a fellow at the last moment. It’s like the cur he 
i s _ carse him ! I tried to do him once, and failed, but I 
won’t fail now!” 

Mr. Sikes suddenly exerted his brute strength to the 
utmost, and flung his captors aside. Drawing a revolver 
he discharged it full at Colonel Ashley and then jumped for 
the window. 


SHENANDOAH. 


195 


Hendricks was too quick for the scoundrel to achieve 
the latter purpose, and pinned him to the floor. 

Stella with a scream had thrown herself upon her 
husband’s breast. Captain Graham stepped quickly to the 
colonel’s side. The ball had entered above the heart, and 
the old Confederate officer lay back in his chair gasping for 
breath. 

At that moment May Anderson appeared on the scene, 
the picture of terror and excitement. 

“What does this mean?” she cried piteously. “What has 
happened?” 

Captain Graham interposed. 

“Pray be calm, Miss Anderson — a serious accident has 
happened. You must prepare yourself ” 

“My brother,” she exclaimed, running over to where the 
colonel lay in the chair. ‘ ‘ He has fainted. ’ ’ 

There was a pause, painful in its intensity, then the old 
officer rallied a bit and opened his eyes. 

‘ ‘ Stella, ’ ’ he said, in a whisper. 

“Husband,” she answered, with a sob. 

“Give me your hand, poor child. Captain Graham; your 
hand. A dying man implores your forgiveness for the 
cruel act inspired by a blind motive of revenge. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Colonel Anderson, I freely forgive you, ’ ’ said Graham. 

“It is well,” said the Confederate officer. “To make 
your future, and yours, my darling, happier than your past 
— it is my wish . 1 ’ 

He slowly and with difficulty joined the hands of Stella 
and Robert Graham across his own breast. 

“When I am gone, captain, you will take my place. I 
ask only that you will sometimes think of me — both of you. 
It will be a memory, that is all. ’ ’ 

He paused. 

“Do not weep, Stella— my wife. It is better thus. You 
gave me all you had to give. It was not your fault that 
you could not bestow upon me your whole heart. I have 


196 


SHENANDOAIL 


suffered much these last few weeks. I am content to go. 
May God bless you — both. ’ ’ 

It was an impressive scene. Even Gideon Sikes, half 
crouching in the background, under the iron grip of the 
overseer, with the brand of Cain fashioning itself upon his 
brow, felt a creeping sense of remorse ; and his downcast 
eye, no longer defiant, sought the face of his much-wronged 
wife — the only friend he had on earth — in hopeless 
bewilderment. 

Brother, ’ ’ said May Anderson at length softly. “Have 
you no word for me?” 

“He will never speak again, Miss Anderson,” said 
Captain Graham sadly, placing his hand over the old man’s 
heart. “He is dead. ’ ’ 


THE END. 


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A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 

A Narrative of Pickett’s Last Charge 
at Gettysburg. 

BY 

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THE MAID OF NEW DLM. 

An Historical Tale of the Indian Uprising and 
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BY 

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